


Viridian Stars

by shangheists, Xima



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cindered Shadows Spoilers, Ensemble Cast, F!Edeleth, M!Dimileth, Major Spoilers for characters and routes, Manakete Byleth(s), Multi, Mutual Pining, New Route, Novel Manakete Biology, Oblivious My Unit | Byleth, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Sothis the Gremlin, like really slow burn, sibling dynamics, twin byleths au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 287,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shangheists/pseuds/shangheists, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xima/pseuds/Xima
Summary: No route ends flawlessly. There simply isn't enough time to save everyone, to make everyone understand.And yet, what if there were two professors, gifted in war and eternally devoted to each other and their students?Gifted with a heritage unlike any other, perhaps the Eisner twins can achieve the impossible and bring Fódlan into a golden, shining future.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 357
Kudos: 480





	1. The Dream and the Road

They stood in the darkness, far away but omnipresent.

A dais. Cold stone, worn with age. A glyph floating above it, flames burning inside it, sharp and hot. That fire would burn the world if they allowed it to.

The dais disappeared, but the flame did not. In its stead, a throne, wreathed in flames, a child upon it, a girl. Unbothered, sleeping. The flames were hers.

There was a tremendous wind, wings fanning in a terrific gust, spreading the flames, an inferno all around them. The child was unbothered. So were they, floating suspended in the void. Merely an observer.

Silence. Then, the girl's eyes opened, and they fell into the flames and into her eyes.

She stripped them to their barest essence, green eyes like binary stars taking in all they were and all they could be.

Her eyes glowed, and they fell backwards, down, down, down to Earth, her eyes floating in the sky like the sun and the moon.

They shone in the sky, their mere existence distorting it around them, auroras staining the horizon. The eyes wept red tears, comets touching the Earth, invigorating it. 

The tears grew, and crawled all along its surface. A people. Building. Growing. The eyes were sightless, but they saw them all the same. They had always seen them, always known them. Since birth, since life came into them, filling their chests like burning coals.

In a blaze of fire, the tears burned away, leaving behind crystalline corpses. 

The eyes called to them again, sending them flying into the sky, and the child stared at them again, with those green eyes bearing microcosms. She had a secret sort of smile on her face, resting her head on her crooked hand, leaning on an armrest.

" _It's time to live up to your heritage, children. It’s time to-_ "

“Wake up. Something’s going on out there,” grunted a tired voice accompanied by a rapping on the door jamb. It was still night, judging from the stars that peppered the sky beyond as well as from the scent of ale that wafted up from beneath the floorboards.

Twin groans echoed through the room, both dragging themselves out of the dream uncertainly, shaken.

Byleth planted his feet on the floor, and looked over at Blythe, who met his gaze. They didn't need to say anything. They both knew what the other had seen.

"C'mon already, stop daydreaming," came the rough voice of their father, Jeralt, his armor jangling as he retrieved the remainder of what a mercenary captain ought to carry with him to a tavern even after a job completed. Wordlessly, they acceded to his demand, pulling on boots and buckling sword belts.

They stepped outside into the village street, the rhythmic crunch of dust and gravel under foot as they made their way to the gates where their father was staring down a trio of youths.

They were garbed in finery ill-fitting for where they were, matching his gaze, begging for their help. Bandits, they said, brigands out to rob and kill them.

"Please, help us," said the one in red, in the tone of someone who was not in the habit of asking for things.

Jeralt stood passively, giving his assent in long-suffering tones they'd heard before.

The one in yellow thanked them with a shining smile that did not reach his eyes, the other two nodding their thanks in turn before unsheathing their weapons in preparation.

Byleth did the same, stepping forward with the youths towards the bandits he could see starting to break through the treeline. Blythe followed behind with Yellow, bow at the ready, steps soundless. Likely, he’d lose her and she’d take her shots from the brush.

He stood with the Blue one, Red standing separate. Blue gave him a reassuring smile which he did not return. This was no time for cheeriness. He’d need to watch him to make sure he didn’t get killed.

Byleth stood as the picture of grace, form immaculate as he crossed swords with a woefully ineffectual bandit who had run at him with sword raised. Sloppy stance, nothing like Jeralt's mercenaries. A swift kick at the knee and they were on their back, the blue one landing the killing blow cleanly with his lance.

They locked eyes, icy blue meeting murky teal. "Good form," Byleth offered simply, before stepping forward to find his next target heedless of the noble's reaction.

Red held her own valiantly. Despite her small frame, she hefted her axe with an ease that spoke of long practice and left a trail of dying bandits in her wake. 

The haze of battle overtook Byleth then, he and Blue forming an efficient team. Strike, parry, block. He blocked bandits who tried to strike him as he took down his targets, and he in turn completed his gory work. They pushed further out, putting down bandits left and right. 

Combined with Yellow’s archery peppering the encroaching hoards, they had the room necessary to put down their opponents without being over-run.

But not where Red was, well away and almost into the treeline. She was far from the group, pushed away by the stream of bandits. Byleth saw it. Locked in stalemate with a burly bandit, another shouting his anger as he ran towards her, axe raised. She was wide open, and he was too far away. All Byleth could do was watch.

And watch he did, as the bandit suddenly had an arrow blossom from his knee, sending him stumbling and falling out of his charge gracelessly. The woman brought down her axe with a sucking crack into her target at the same time he fell and turned to see who had assisted her.

It was Blythe. She stood resplendent atop the hill, Messy hair almost navy in the dark. He could always count on his twin to account for any openings and shortcomings, intentional or otherwise.

That was the last of the bandits. All that remained now was the unnatural silence of a forest emptied of wildlife and populated only by the dead and those that felled them.

He went up to his sister’s side, lip quirking upward. For him, it was as good as a grin.

"Blythe," he said, falling in step. She nodded at him, her expression mirroring his.. 

"Byleth," she answered curtly before turning to Red who stepped towards them with determination in her eyes. Distantly, he realized Blue was also coming towards them, as well as the yellow one who appeared as if by magic behind Blythe.

"Thank you for your assistance," stated Red, nodding to Blythe. 

"Yeah, that was a great shot!" cheered Yellow with a bright smile. "You should've seen him limping off, it was great."

"Indeed. Thank you both for your help. I shudder to think what might have happened without you both," said Blue, fist to his chest in a gesture of deference that betrayed his heritage.

It was at this moment Jeralt stepped forward, gimlet eye looking over the damage. "Huh. Not bad, kids," he offered, hands at his hips. "You kids're pretty good. You look well off, too, with those uniforms… Why would people like you—"

There was a loud crash as a knight on horseback broke into the clearing. Jeralt stood as a picture of martial dignity until a loud voice boomed across them.

"Ho, there! Jeralt!? Is that you!?" cried the knight, trotting forward.

"Ah, shit," he hissed, head in his hand.

"It is you! It's me! Alois, your old right hand man!" he cried, Jeralt falling deeper into his open hand with each word.

"Hi, Alois," he said in monotone.

"I say, you haven't aged a day!" he marveled, stepping off his horse, his eyes falling over the group.

"What an impressive fight! I was separated from the main force, but I caught you all fighting off those bandits with ease before I could assist!" He looked over Byleth and Blythe with admiration in his eyes. "You two are impressive warriors! Are you some of Jeralt’s mercenaries?" he asked, voice so loud there was no question the wildlife would not come back for a time yet.

Blythe piped up: "He is our father," she said simply, Alois boggling at the statement.

"Wh -- Jeralt's -- hmmm! Well, now that you mention it, you may not look alike, but you bear some of his mannerisms..." he mumbled, loudly enough that everyone heard him.

"Yeah, great, look, Alois. Why are you and these kids here?" said Jeralt, arms crossed.

"Well, I, as a Knight of Seiros, was tasked with guarding these students from the Garreg Mach Officer's Academy as they returned to the monastery!" he said grandly, gesturing to the nobles. Blue seemed to jolt.

"Ah. Yes. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd," he said, nodding solemnly. Yellow grinned, taking a debonair pose and leaning on the blonde's shoulder.

"Claude von Riegan, at your service." he said, with a wink towards the twins who had gravitated to stand next to each other.

Red straightened her back and spoke as well. "I am Edelgard von Hresvelg. It is an honor to meet you."

Alois stroked his moustache ponderously, before his face lit up in delight. "Ah! This is perfect! You simply must join us on our way back to the monastery! The Knights will be delighted to see Jeralt the Blade Breaker in all his glory once more!"

Jeralt groaned. "Alois..." He gave a sigh, deflating. "Guess I'm not getting out of this one. Fine, we'll come with."

"Wonderful!" cried Dimitri, pumping his fist. "Your sword work was so impressive, I was hoping for advice... uh..."

"That's Byleth. The other one's Blythe," said Jeralt, resigned to his fate. "Just… let us pack up and we can get going."

Jeralt stumbled off grumpily, his children following wordlessly but for a glance shared between the pair.

“ _What do you think?_ ” mumbled Blythe, in the secret tongue they’d mastered as children.

“ _Not much. Whatever happens we’re along for the ride_ ,” he replied as they made their way into their room to pack their few meagre belongings.

It truly wasn’t much. Most of their possessions were already on their bodies. Being a mercenary meant being able to pack light and be ready to travel at a moment’s notice. 

They stuffed their spare clothing — really just a change of linens and a tunic — into a pair of canvas sacks, and that was more or less all there was. 

They knew Jeralt would be a bit longer; he kept ledgers for the Mercenaries and more general detritus relevant to keeping them going, so they stood in silence, staring at their beds and thinking about the dream they had been dragged from.

“ _What was that, By?_ ” asked Blythe, face unreadable to any but her brother; she was confused, perhaps even fearful.

“ _... I don’t know.”_ It was hard to admit to his sister; she always looked to him when she was unsure. “ _In dreams, no one else speaks like us. But she did_ ,” he murmured, unsure of the point he was making.

Blythe sighed, and slung her sack over her back. “ _Well. It was still just a dream. I doubt the world will burst into flames anytime soon_ , _”_ she said, stepping towards the door, the ghost of a tease easing its way into her expression . “ _Come along, brother. That Dimitri boy seemed interested in you.”_

Byleth scoffed, unimpressed. Soon, they were outside, with the ragtag nobles all goggling and failing to hide it in their own ways, almost seeming to lean in and learn whatever they would impart.  
  
“Is that really all you’ve got?” asked the one named Claude, pointing to their sacks. “Man, you mercs really do travel light!”

Neither twin responded, the silence dragging until Claude laughed awkwardly and stepped back.

The red one, Edelgard, gave an imperious harrumph. “For one who claims to be so gifted in conversation, you lack politeness, Claude,” she stated with a rigid sense of authority, arms crossed over her chest. 

Blythe turned her gaze to her, assessing. Such a small woman, yet so demanding. Nobles really were something else, she mused.

Dimitri, meanwhile, stood back, simply observing Byleth with glimmering eyes. The other twin could only watch him as Blythe distracted the other two, locking eyes with him only for him to break the contact immediately, turning and rubbing at his face. Odd.

Soon, Jeralt too left the inn, though, and with a gusty sigh, he gave the order. Alois cheered from further down the road, shouting loudly that he would keep the path clear for them, and they began the trek.

The nobles were like lampreys. They refused to let go and leave them be, for reasons beyond them both.

“So Blade Breaker’s your dad, huh? I hear he was a hot shot back when he was with the Knights,” mused Claude, arms clasped behind his head. “Must’ve been tough, living in his shadow.”  
  
“I have never heard him called Blade Breaker before.” said Byleth emotionlessly.

“Truly? His strength at arms was a thing of legend, to hear the Knights tell it,” volunteered Dimitri, a hand pressed to his chin as if in thought. “I’m surprised. I’ve never known a warrior who did not have a story or two to share.” 

Neither twin had anything to say to that, so they kept walking in silence that was awkward for everyone but the twins, who were ignorant of the weight it bore.

Edelgard stepped forward to try and stoke conversation. She sidled up closer to Blythe, and puffed up her chest. “So are you an archer and your brother a swordsman, Blythe?”  
  
“No. We are both trained in numerous disciplines as needed,” was the blunt response she received.

“I… I see. Do you have a preference then?”  
  
“No. But I am best with a sword,” she answered simply.

Conversation petered out after that, Edelgard quietly pumping her fist for having at least kept it going longer than the others.

It was when dawn came that the parapets of what Alois excitedly told them was Garreg Mach appeared on the horizon. All told, it seemed they had been awoken in the tail end of the night, given that the twins’ feet had yet to protest their prolonged use.

As they approached, Byleth had to admit: the monastery was a grand thing. Heavy stone and strong gates, it felt less a monastery so much as a fortress, at least from where they stood. 

From up ahead Alois gave a deafening shout to have them open the gates, and within moments a groan echoed out to them as the way opened. An unspoken tension seemed to leave the nobles as they gazed upon home territory, sagging appreciatively. 

Byleth could not claim to feel the same comfort: facing away from them was a child, staring up into Garreg Mach and making his blood run cold.

She had ankle-length hair, green as the forest behind them. Pointed ears and no shoes. It was her.

The child from the dream. What was she doing here?  
  
Alarmed, he turned to Blythe who did the same.

“ _What is she doing here?_ ” hissed Blythe in their tongue, the nobles turning as one to look at her strangely.

“Sorry, what was that?” said Claude, face screwed up in confusion.

“Weird twin code. They figured out a language between them when they were kids and they use it to keep secrets,” answered Jeralt with disinterest, long resigned not to understand. He stepped up to address the gate-guard, who a bit too cheerfully and with a touch of awe offered him a message in turn.

Dimitri hummed at the answer, the three of them looking at the twins with renewed curiosity. 

“What’dja say?” asked Claude eagerly, only to be met with the blank, withering stares of both twins.  
  
“ _I don’t know, Blythe. Be careful.”_ Was Byleth’s response as they stared Claude down. When he finally broke his gaze, he was crestfallen to see the child was gone.

Not that anyone could tell from looking at him. Save for one.

They stepped into the monastery proper, twins taking in the locale nervously, looking for the child. Though it was a big monastery, and there was no telling what was waiting for them in the walls, what histories lay hidden.

Once they’d passed the markets and climbed the steps, they were met by yet another mysterious sight:

A woman on a balcony, watching them. One with green hair, lighter than the child’s. All the same, the similarities couldn’t be a coincidence. Byleth looked up at her, assessing.

After a few moments, the woman turned away, disappearing behind the curtained glass doors which kept the balcony separate from within. 

Blythe gave a grunt, indicating she’d seen it too. Neither made any further visible observation. 

Best to keep quiet and observe. Whatever Garreg Mach was, it was clearly a seat of serious power. Best to be cautious.

As they stood before the building with the balcony, Jeralt gave a blustery sigh, interrupting Alois as he prattled noisily.

“Alright, kiddos, run along. You’ve got stuff to do, and Alois here wants to drag me and the kids upstairs to kiss the ring.” The nobles nodded, understanding the way of such things. They were strangers here under Alois’s good word alone, after all, so they’d need to meet the powers that be.

Edelgard turned to Blythe, offering her a firm nod and an outstretched hand. “It was good to meet you, Blythe. May we meet again.” she said with a primly sketched half-bow. If Byleth guessed he’d say she measured it to 30 degrees precisely. 

Blythe stared down at the proffered hand uncomfortably, before gently reaching her own hand out and having her limp wrist be jostled by her firm, decisive movements.  
  
“...Yeah,” she offered, blank eyes locking onto Edelgard’s, prompting a regal smile. With that, she gave a bow to the rest of the group and was off. Next was Riegan.

“Aw, shucks, no need for formality!” Claude chided, capturing both twins in one-armed hugs with him in the middle.  
  
“It’s good to meet you! Something tells me this isn’t the last I’ll see of you either,” he said cheekily, ever-present smile gaining a mischievous edge before meandering off without further fanfare. 

Byleth turned without thinking towards Dimitri expectantly.

He was an awkward boy, Byleth had already come to learn, and the way he blushed and scratched at his head only confirmed it.

“Ah… it was good to meet you, Byleth,” he said, raising his eyes to lock with Byleth’s.

They were a truly striking blue, like the surface of a deep, placid lake that held something deep within its dignified depths.

Why did he think that? His momentary reverie was broken when Dimitri spoke up again.

“I hope we will meet again. I’d like to know you better,” he said, in a small voice, before giving a shallow bow, his gauntleted fist clenched over his heart.

“May your sword stay sharp and your meals filling,” he offered, with the weight of tradition beneath his words.

“Ah… and yours as well. Dimitri,” supplied Byleth uncomfortably. He was never good at social platitudes. He hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself.

It certainly didn’t seem so, if the blinding smile Dimitri gave in return was anything to go by. He reached forward, grabbing his arm firmly by the hand and elbow, shaking it firmly.  
  
“Be well,” he said finally, before leaving with a wave so genuinely friendly even Blythe couldn’t help but shake her hand left and right in an awkward wave.

Byleth simply stood silently, watching him until he was no longer visible.

With the nobles dispersed, it was now just the twins, Jeralt, and Alois.

“Shall we, my friends?” offered Alois with a wide smile, opening the door and bowing to gesture them in.

The Eisners collectively sighed in preparation. They crossed the threshold, and come what would, they’d just have to endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading. This is a group work between Xima and Shangheists, and we both hope you enjoyed! We eagerly solicit comments and kudos, so don't be shy! We have been keeping this caged up for a while. We would like to offer these final parting words:
> 
> Everything is painful and everyone is gay, thank you for coming to our ted talk.
> 
> EDIT: Okay, this is Xima from like, a year and 40+ chapters from now! We have a discord if you wanna come say hi! The link will start getting reposted around chapter 20-ish or so, but I'm just posting it here too as a courtesy. :>  
> https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm   
> Please note, it's an 18+ discord, on account of the deleted scenes and noncanonical content, some of which includes smut. So, y'know. It's 18+ 'cuz of the smut.


	2. In the Viper's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eisners have what feels like a near-death experience with the Archbishop but was actually the hiring process for their new jobs. The twins go fishing, and they find out they're haunted.

The building was old wood. The smell of aged timber and varnish inundated the halls as Alois led them along, up a flight of stairs past robed figures lugging scrolls and books, people in full armor.

It was a hive of activity, and Alois seemed to be bringing them to its heart. To the green-haired woman Blythe had unreasonable certainty was the one in charge.

She spied her brother from the corner of her eye. The Blaiddyd boy liked him, though she doubted even his obvious affection would get through her brother’s thick head. All these observations, and yet not a single thought passed through it.

Her father, though…

Jeralt looked like he was walking into battle. Back straight, shoulders back and jaw clenched. He was nervous.

Jeralt didn’t let them see him nervous.

A drop of cold worry sat on her spine, just above her hips. She needed to be ready. Byleth was no good at politicking — not that she was much better, but she had to try for him.

Alois opened another set of doors, bowing deeply as the Eisner family stepped into what looked too much like a throne room for a monastery.

She was right. The woman was there, and she was striking to look at. Her eyes were as green as her hair, face a pristine mask of demure serenity that somehow reminded her of the face she saw in the mirror: neutral, blank, emotionless.

Beside her was another man with green hair, of stern countenance with hands clasped behind his back and a frown on his face.

Alois stepped forward, falling to a knee. “Lady Rhea,” he said respectfully, voice at an appropriate volume for once.

“Rise, Sir Alois.” Her voice was gentle, but betrayed by her gesture which seemed to pick him up like a puppet.

Lady Rhea’s eyes found hers, and Blythe smelled ash and fire.

“I see you’ve brought guests,” she said placidly, still as a statue as she took them in.

“Yes, my Lady. These are the Eisners. I am sure you remember Jeralt, and here are his two children,” said Alois, gesturing to them where they stood. 

“Oh,” she said melodically, flat eyes locking onto their father, smile unchanged but an undercurrent of a threat slithering invisibly between them. “Sir Jeralt. I’m glad to see you well. What brings you here?” She asked. Blythe wanted to step in, but she found herself rooted in place.

The smell of ash filled her nose, swallowing the scent of the incense she saw burning around them.

“Some of your kids got ambushed by bandits. We helped fight them off, and Alois insisted we should come and visit,” Jeralt provided neutrally, eyes flinty.

“Oh, how awful. Thank the Goddess you were there to help them. Seteth had mentioned who precisely you protected,” she said, smile unwavering and unnatural.

Rhea’s eyes locked onto Blythe’s, and for a frozen moment, she felt like she was staring at a snake about to swallow her whole. A prey instinct, pure and simple, like she hadn’t felt in years.

“And you two, accompanying the legendary Blade Breaker. Congratulations Jeralt, you have two beautiful children,” She observed, eyes never leaving hers, a bead of sweat running down the back of her neck. Her words were sweet, but she felt like every one was a veiled threat.

“Byleth and Blythe. They helped,” He supplied with a dismissive wave, stepping forward as if to distract her.

“To assist the Blade Breaker is no small feat,” teased Rhea, eyes raking over them with a fascination Blythe did not understand.  
  
“But I digress. This is a good time for you to reappear. You see, the newest class for the Officer’s Academy is starting soon, and—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Lady Rhea. You don’t want me teaching these kids. I’m no good as a teacher,” he said, a trifle frantically, as if a rabbit caught in a snare.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said Rhea, still unerringly serene. “But you’re good as a Knight of Seiros, aren’t you?” she said, a sinister glimmer sparkling in her eye for an instant so brief that Blythe almost missed it.

She turned back to the twins. “And you two… Jeralt’s children. Gifted warriors in your own rights, I’m sure. Perhaps you two would enjoy taking up the post of professor at Garreg Mach’s Officer’s Academy,” she said lightly, her smile seeming to make it clear this was not a request to be denied.

Wait.

What?

“What?” Byleth echoed, eyes widening.

“Well, certainly!” said Rhea, her smile growing into a full blown grin, like the cat with the cream. “If Jeralt is unable to teach, then surely his children, who he taught, will be able to impart what they learned,” She continued, punctuating her statement with a cheery little clap. The twins turned to their father, the closest thing to terror they could express in their eyes. 

Jeralt grit his teeth as if wounded. Rhea had caught him, somehow, and Blythe understood enough to know this was not an offer one was meant to refuse.  
  
“Wh -- Lady Rhea, you can’t be serious!” Cried the green-haired man next to Rhea, gesturing to the Eisners.  
  
“A man gone for twenty years comes back and you offer him re-entry into the Knights? His children teaching at the academy!?” he hissed, looking close to bursting a blood vessel.

“Now, now, Seteth. Have faith,” She said placid as ever, his frustrated confusion passing over her like little more than a breeze.

“Have f--” It was clearly only with great self control that he cut himself off, positively fuming next to her.

Rhea looked them over a final time, the picture of resplendent serenity.  
  
“What say you, Eisners?” she asked, eyes locking onto Jeralt’s once more, the smell of ash and fire almost strong enough for Blythe to put her sleeve to her nose.  
  
“For old time’s sake,” Rhea said, softly. Dangerously. Jeralt paled.  
  
“Alright, Rhea, you win.”  
  
“ _Lady_ Rhea,” interrupted Seteth haughtily.

Jeralt leveled an unimpressed look his way.  
  
“You can’t say no to the Archbishop, now, can you. Fine. What do you want?” he said grouchily, every word pulled out of him like they were pins.

“Just what I said. You rejoin the Knights and shape them back into the fighting force of your time. Byleth and Blythe will teach classes at the Academy and Hanneman will return to full-time crest research,” she said cheerily, the tension that had been swallowing them seeming to burst like a soap bubble with her father’s pronouncement. 

“Cyril will lead you to your respective lodgings once Seteth has organized them,” she said beatifically, Seteth’s expression only growing stormier.

Jeralt could only sigh, dejected as Rhea began to dismiss them when, to Blythe’s horror, Byleth spoke up.

“A question, Lady Rhea,” he said. Rhea turned to him, a sparkle of interest gleaming beneath her mask.  
  
“Yes, Byleth? That is your name, is it not?” she said, curiosity coloring her voice.

“Yes, it is. Do you have a child, by chance?” he asked and Blythe had to physically restrain herself from tackling him to the floor.

“ _Byleth, don’t you dare. Disengage, now!”_ she barked as if they were on the battlefield.

Rhea and Seteth locked onto her instantly. Blythe’s eyes widened in turn to see the looks of naked shock on both their faces. Seteth even paled, taking on a sickly pallor.

“What — what did you just say, Blythe?” asked Rhea, smile replaced with a look of utter shock, her eyes looking at her with a force that made earlier seem like a gentle touch, as if she was searching desperately for something inside her eyes.

“It’s nothing, Lady Rhea, a bit of warrior’s cant! Forgive them, they’re not used to dealing with people of status,” volunteered Jeralt frantically, going so far as to step in front of Blythe, hiding her with his bulk.

“Jeralt, step aside,” she said with a tone like a knife’s edge, the aura of threat refilling the room with ash and fire, twice as thick as before. He had no choice but to acquiesce.

“Are you saying you taught them that language?” she said, voice crisp and deceptively mild, eyes seeming to flay Jeralt where he stood so strong was the force of her question.

“N-no, Lady Rhea. They taught themselves. As children,” he said, trying to keep himself in check under the combined force of Seteth and Rhea’s unwavering gazes.  
  
“Your children taught themselves this language,” she confirmed, eyes turning back to Blythe and Byleth, and if she wasn’t probably half-sick from the tension and the smell of this awful incense she could have sworn the Archbishop’s eyes were slits.

In an instant, the illusion had passed, she seemed human once more and she placed a finger to the side of her head thoughtfully.

“I see. How interesting, the things twins get up to,” she said, her eyes crinkling with her smile, not a wrinkle in sight. She turned, smiling at Seteth in what almost seemed like her gloating.

Then, as quickly as the tension had built, it dissipated into nothing, the smell of ash and fire fading into the smell of sandalwood once more.

“Now, you’d all best go and acclimate yourselves to the monastery while the sun is shining. Cyril will find you,” she said cheerily, the dismissal obvious. Jeralt bowed, and the twins were quick to follow his example. They filed out in a blur, just fast enough not to be considered rude.

When the doors to the throne room closed, the three of them all but gasped for relief.

“You fuckin’ kids…” bemoaned Jeralt. They walked out of the building, reconvening on a nearby lawn. He placed a hand on both their shoulders.

“Listen. Be careful around Rhea, okay? I mean it. Do what she says, smile and nod, but be _careful,_ Goddess’ sake. That was her being _nice,_ ” he said through his teeth, giving them both a firm shake.

“No made up languages, no asking about children! Seriously, you see green haired kids running around, By?” he asked in the clear lead up to a parental lecture.  
  
“Yes,” was his response.  
  
“Honestly, of all the-wait, what?” The air decisively cut from his sails, he looked at him in bafflement.

“The little girl. When the gates opened,” he said simply. “Blythe saw her too.”

Jeralt turned to her for confirmation. She nodded, privately annoyed with Byleth for digging the hole deeper. They shouldn’t be talking about the child from their dreams, never mind ask dangerous women if they’re her mother.

“...Huh. If not Rhea, maybe Seteth then…” he murmured, scratching at his beard in thought.

“Bah. Anyway, s’not important. Look, things are different here, okay? Pay attention, be careful. I’ll be here but I can’t be there all the time. Help each other, like you always have,” he said seriously, patting their shoulders before stepping back.

“Now, it’s been a long damn day and I need a drink. Go explore, or whatever. Whoever Cyril is, he’ll find us. If nothing else Rhea has good help,” he said decisively, giving them a backwards wave as he walked off to what they assumed to be the nearest bar.

Once their father was out of sight, Blythe’s first order of business was swatting Byleth in the back of the head.  
  
“Ow! Blythe, what!” he cried, affronted.

“ _Do you have children, he says! Byleth, what were you thinking?”_ she asked, arms crossed.

“ _Says the lady who spoke in code!_ ” he countered, with a new bruise on his head to match his ego .  
  
 **“** _Yes, and thank goodness it distracted them from your crazy question! She’s from a dream, Byleth, this is deeper than someone’s child wandering the monastery!_ ” she hissed.

Byleth rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance. “ _t was just a question, Bly, worst case she’d have thought me uncouth, which is true_.” Blythe huffed grumpily.

“... _Fine. We both made mistakes, let’s just move on and hope we haven’t caught Rhea’s eye, like father said,_ ” she said, beginning to walk in a random direction, Byleth following.

“...So what now?” he said, returning to normal speech, only slightly pouty by their standards.

“We explore the monastery. If we’re going to be spending our time here, it would do well for us to get our bearings,” she said, hands clasped behind her head as they wandered, looking at the people bustling about in the afternoon sun.

It was nice. Greenhouse, training grounds, a bath house, a fishing pond. Were circumstances different, Blythe might have been happy to spend some time here. As it stood she just felt like she was touring her prison cell.

“It’s nice,” offered Byleth, as they stood at the edge of the dining hall staring into the fishing pond.

“I guess,” she replied, glumly, her head still back in the throne room. She still didn’t understand what had happened; it had been some sort of fever dream, the smell, Rhea’s eyes, the sheer animal terror she felt…

And she came out of it an instructor at what she gathered was a famous military academy, which was attached to a monastery, of all things.

What a life she lived. She already missed just being a mercenary, that was simple. Get contract, complete contract, repeat. This was so much more Byleth’s specialty.

They stood looking at that pond for a long time, watching the sun reflect off it, saying nothing. It had already felt like an eternity.

“... Blythe? Byleth?” came a voice behind them, catching their attention. They turned as one, whirling onto a familiar face staring at them, lavender eyes wide and curious.

“Edelgard. Hello,” said Blythe, leaning back onto the railing.  
  
“Hello. Forgive me, I had thought you would have left by now, it’s good to see you.” She said, small smile on her face.  
  
She shook her head. “Seems not. Father has accepted a… long-term contract, as have we. We will be about,” she said without inflection.

“Truly?” she burst out, a note of naked happiness creeping into her tone. “That’s wonderful!” she said with a grin, before coughing awkwardly and getting herself under control. 

“That is — I am thankful for the opportunity to work with you further,” she said diplomatically, putting on a pretty smile Blythe knew she had to have practiced in the mirror to be so close to convincing but not quite.

Compared to Rhea’s, though, it was sunshine.

“As are we,” she responded with a curt nod.

“I’m sure the others will be happy for the news too, when it reaches them,” she supplied, finger to her chin in thought.

“Yes, I’m sure Dimitri will be pleased to hear Byleth is staying,” she said with the slightest quirk of her lip, sending a gentle elbow Byleth’s way.  
  
“Ow. What? Why him?” asked Byleth, confused. Blythe simply looked at Edelgard, unimpressed and shaking her head towards Byleth.

She politely stifled a chuckle behind her fist, and Blythe was strangely happy that she could make her laugh. No one ever laughed when she tried to be funny except Byleth.

“Whatever the case, it is good to see you both, and hear of your residency. I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other. I fear I have an appointment to get to, so I will leave you to your day,” said Edelgard with a polite nod before heading off. 

Blythe watched her go, something strange wriggling in her chest.

What a day… if she was feeling so strange after Rhea and everything else, she might need an early night.

“What should we do now, By?” asked Blythe, staring up at the sky with him.  
  
“We’ve already seen everything except the cathedral proper, but that’s far away across the bridge. I vote we buy some bait and see if the fish are biting,” he said resolutely.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said, following him as they made their way down the stairs to the bait shack. She grabbed two rods from the bucket for them as Byleth bought their bait, and they sat down on the dock together.

The sun shone brightly as it crawled across the sky, the twins keeping quiet and still as the fish came to them. They weren’t hungry, so whatever they caught they simply tossed back. Fishing had always been more of a bonding activity for them, anyway. It was a way for them to pass the time together in the silence they had long grown comfortable in, the very same silence that put others on edge. It had isolated them growing up, and still set them apart, but on days such as this, full of life-altering events furling out without their say, the silence was a solace they cherished dearly. This too would pass.

Before long, it was sunset, the dining hall up the stairs audible even from their spot on the dock as the staff and student body ate and talked over their plates. There really were a lot of people here… she and Byleth both felt the nervousness that came with crowds, thankful to be down here alone but for the fish.

Somehow, it was so much easier dealing with crowds on the battlefield. You could just stab anyone who got too close.

The placidity was finally broken by a boy stepping onto the dock, staring them both down with serious eyes. They matched his stare, nonplussed.

“Are you Byleth and Blythe?” he asked, projecting as much authority as he could.

They nodded.

“I’m Cyril. Lady Rhea wants me to show you to your room,” he said simply.

  
They nodded again, standing and pulling their lures, following him and dumping their rods along the way.

It was a short walk, passing by the student dwelling. Soon, Cyril stopped in front of a door, beginning to rifle through his pockets for something and pulling out a pair of keys.

“This will be your room. It’s a double,” he said distractedly, handing them each a key. “If you need advice on laundry or anything just ask someone. I’m very busy, I need to go finish my chores for Lady Rhea.” He offered little more, running off with no further fanfare.

They looked at each other, confused by what had just transpired. With an almost invisible shrug, Byleth reached forward and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a room that was a bit cramped for the two beds and two desks inside it. And it was a good thing they didn’t have much in the way of clothing, because there was still only one dresser. Oh, there was a closet in the corner too. One for each then.

The carpet was nice though, mused Blythe as she closed and locked the door behind them.

“ _So this is it,”_ she said simply, sitting on one of the beds.

“ _Seems like it.”_ _  
__  
_Byleth took a seat on the other bed, both lying back in sync.

 _“At least there’s nothing else for today,_ ” said Blythe thankfully. “ _That was enough_.”

“ _Mmmm, one more thing,_ ” said a voice that was not Byleth or Blythe’s, making them both jump in shock to stare at the interloper who stood at the head of their beds, floating in mid-air.

“ _You!_ ” said Blythe, eloquently..

The child nodded, her huge mass of hair shaking with the motion. _“Me,”_ she said with a smile that reached into her voice and clearly said she knew exactly how frustrating she was being and she loved it.

She was speaking their language, she was floating, why was her hair green, what was _happening?_  
  
Byleth, at least, managed to keep his cool.

“ _We’re sufficiently confused, little green girl. How did you get in here and what do you want?_ ” 

The child grumped mightily, stamping her foot on air.

“‘ _Little green girl?’_ _How rude! I’m old enough to be your mother, I think!”_ she said, addressing them both.

They quirked their eyebrows in sync, unconvinced.

“ _The question stands,”_ he said, deadpan.

The child harrumphed, sad to see her fun taken away.

“ _I’m a ghost, I think. Stuck following you two, for reasons beyond my understanding,”_ she said, petulantly.

The twins looked to each other, then back to the child, confusion hiding beneath their emotionless faces.

“ _I don’t understand. You’re saying you’re bound to us?”_ asked Blythe, crossing her arms as the child hopped onto a bedpost, perching as if a gargoyle.

“ _Seems like it. At least I found entertaining ones, if that show you put on with Rhea was anything to go by,”_ she said cheekily. 

_“I almost said something. You’re awful at this. If I’m going to be stuck dealing with you, I’m going to have to step in and make sure you don’t end up executed or some other foolish fate,”_ she said, eyes downturned as she nipped at her thumb pensively.

 _“Oh? And how would you go about doing that?”_ asked Byleth, the rare hint of an edge to his tone. He hated when people thought him incapable.

“ _Magic, obviously,”_ she said, bored and sailing around the room on her back, hands behind her head.

 _“...Like when you entered our dream,”_ confirmed Blythe, putting pieces together.

The child stopped her fluttering, standing properly and floating to a corner of the room to lock eyes with her, confused frown on her face. Unbidden, she yawned.  
  
“ _So you had it too,”_ she said as she floated forward to examine Blythe’s face from this side and that. She pulled back, looking at them both, arms crossed.

 _“Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s going on either. I’m stuck with you and you’re stuck with me. It is in our best interests to form an accord. I have powers, I can help you. And you can help me,”_ she said authoritatively, for a moment looking much older than she appeared. Her eyes were sharp and deep, as if they had seen a great many things _._ Between that and her speech, Blythe felt that despite her appearance she was more of a grandmother than a child.

Blythe looked her over, all three of them with their arms crossed, as if strange mirrors of one another. “ _Say we agreed. How do we help you?”_ she asked, a headache blossoming and making her want to go to bed and deal with this later.

The child was silent for a long moment, giving another loud yawn. “ _I… I don’t remember anything but my name. My past, my family, friends, nothing. I woke up staring at you, and knowing you were important, somehow. To me,”_ she murmured, for a moment seeming sincerely vulnerable. She hugged herself, as if she was cold.

Despite themselves, both of the twins were moved by her admission. No one could doubt that such a situation would be a terrible one to live through. Or be dead through, as the case might have been. They looked to one another, the decision agreed upon wordlessly.

“ _Alright, we’ll help you,_ ” said Blythe, Byleth nodding from his own bed. _“We’ll do what we can to help you remember, and you can… help us, however you can. Having a ghost in our corner can’t be a downside,”_ she said, losing the plot as she mulled over the possibilities. A spy, a scout, this child would be useful even without the magic she claimed to have.

Byleth stepped in as she lost herself. _“So we’re agreed, then?”_ he offered, claiming her attention.

The child yawned again, seeming to fade as they spoke. _“Yes. We can discuss things further later on. I am tired, and I imagine you are too.”_

 _“Final note,”_ interrupted Byleth, and Blythe again had to restrain the urge to tackle him. The child tilted her head, waiting.

 _“I’m Byleth, she’s Blythe. Who are you?”_ he asked, staring her down, but without ill intent. She gave a small smile.

 _“I am Sothis. Good night, Byleth, Blythe,”_ she said as if tasting their names on her tongue and with a final yawn disappeared into the aether. There was a moment of dead air, and another. Finally, Blythe gave an exhausted sigh, tossing her coat onto the floor and kicking off her boots.

There were no more words as the two got ready for bed, the sun only just cresting beneath the horizon as they closed their eyes.

It had been a long day. Goddess knew what would come with the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo-ee! Two chapters, two days! I won't say get used to it, but Shangheists and I have been having a ball writing, so expect more soon. As ever, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, don't be shy! Kudos are also lovely, of course.


	3. Morning at the Monastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins spend their first morning at the monastery. There is gossiping and politicking, and surprisingly good fish.

It seemed the hours of the monastery were overall quite a bit more merciful than those of mercenaries on the road.

The sun was well and truly up by the time the twins dragged themselves from their blanket nests, stumbling to their packs, fetching their changes of clothing.

They took turns looking out of the window while the other changed, and in short order — one that would get longer for Byleth as they spent more time here — it seemed they were ready to face the day. The twins both looked around nervously, paranoid about the presence of their green-haired specter who was still mysteriously absent after her impromptu disappearing act.

With that in mind they stepped out of their room. The sun was shining, the grass was green, and altogether it was a beautiful day. They could not bring themselves to feel comfortable enough to enjoy it though. They locked the door behind them.

They made their way to the dining hall, stomachs grumbling in tandem. They hadn’t had dinner and the smell of cooking food called to them like a siren, filled tables or not. They had still spent their lives in crowded mercenary camps, even if they didn’t like to deal with it.

When Byleth smelled the scent of fresh fish, all was lost. They waited politely in line, the chef stacking their plates as they desired, and before long they were seated as far away from anyone else as they could manage at the edge of one of the long tables that populated the hall.

And much to their mutual delight, the food was great. They lost themselves in the meal deeply enough that they almost didn’t notice a sweep of gold take its place beside them, tray in hand.

“Claude,” Blythe greeted, knowing too well that her brother would never speak with his mouth full.

“Morning to you, too, great and talented children of the Blade Breaker,” he said in a voice that made Blythe want to roll her eyes. Looking over at her brother, she could see subtle changes in his face to indicate a cautious curiosity.

A grin that Blythe could only describe as devilish made its way across Claude’s face. “...Or should I call you Professor?”

She understood her brother’s suspicion now. The only people that knew were the two of them, their father, the Archbishop, her advisor, and Edelgard, she supposed, however vague she had been careful to be.

“Hey, easy with the murder eyes, the Archbishop told us last night,” Claude said, waving his hands in defense. “Well, just the class leaders, anyway, so me, Dimitri, and Edelgard.”

Blythe nodded, taking a bite of her fish. “Shame, that. I’d hoped to see his face when Dimitri heard,” she said, monotone.

Claude gave a bright laugh at the pronouncement, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He shattered the corner of the desk he was sitting at,” he said, low enough for only Blythe to hear.

Blythe’s lip quirked slightly upward. “Impressive,” she said, before returning to her meal.

Claude leaned back casually, hands behind his head. “Sooo,” he began, “any idea who you’re teaching?” His eyes were suddenly flatter than they were, his smile little more than a curve of his lips.

“No,” said Byleth definitively, pushing his tray forward.

“No? The way Seteth said it, you had the pick of the litter. Manuela already said she’d pick whoever was left,” he said cautiously, clearly probing from the way he twirled the fork next to his plate and neglected to touch his meal.

“You overestimate how involved we are in the politics here, Claude. We’ve been here a day. We were told we would teach. We don’t know who, what, where or when. We’ve been waiting for a summons from Rhea to give us our assignment,” Blythe cut in, hoping to curtail her brother’s curtness. Riegan was the talkative one. It wouldn’t do to insult him.

Claude frowned, disappointed before rallying with a bright smile. “Well, then I guess you’d better get ready to be wooed!” he said with good cheer.

“C’mon, don’t you want to be a Golden Deer? Either of you?” asked Claude piteously and with an exaggerated pout.

They stared at his theatrics with what they hoped he would soon realize was their stock expression of blank disinterest.  
  
“I don’t know what that is,” said Byleth, to which Blythe added, “Concur.”

Claude’s grin took on a frozen quality, as if the only thing he could do to react to that was nothing at all.

“Well, the three of us are the leaders of the three houses. I lead the Golden Deer, Dimitri the Blue Lions and Edelgard the Black Eagles,” he informed them. 

“I’ll tell you this much, us Deer are a great class. Either one of you’d love to teach us. Smart, nice, decidedly not stuffy, the works!” He punctuated his pronouncement by throwing his arms out excitedly, grin infectious, or it would be to anyone but them.

“Hm. Well, we’ll see,” said Byleth neutrally before picking up his tray to bring it back to the chefs.

Blythe returned to her own meal, but not before pointing her fork at Claude’s untouched food. “You should finish that before it gets cold. It’s good,” she said, biting into a fresh bread roll.

Claude could only snort, head falling into his hand with a rueful smile before digging into his own meal.

The boy ate with mindless efficiency, hardly seeming to chew as he burned through his meal. He didn’t even seem to notice when Byleth had replaced Blythe as she went to return her own tray, at least until he locked eyes with him, eyes as blank as his.

“Why’d you take the job, Byleth?” he asked quietly, intensely, with weight placed on the question that Byleth didn’t quite understand.

He gave a micromotion Claude was beginning to grasp was probably meant to be a shrug. “It wasn’t the kind of offer you refused,” he said simply, before standing from his seat as Blythe came back. He nodded to Claude, and they left without another word, though they were aware of his eyes following them as they went.

The twins meandered aimlessly for a time after that, Cyril finding them in short order to give them the news that Rhea was expecting them in her chambers before sprinting off again, busy as ever.

At least armed with the knowledge Claude had given them, they felt a bit readier to see the Archbishop again.

Before long, they stood before the double doors that led to her throne room. Resolutely, Blythe reached forward, rapping sharply on the thick wood three times.

“Enter,” came the voice of the Archbishop, and as Blythe pushed the doors open, the smell of sandalwood all but blinded their noses.

“Lady Rhea,” said Blythe, stepping forward, Byleth trailing a step behind her.  
  
“Blythe, Byleth,” said Rhea nodding to them in turn. “Thank you for coming.” Her voice and smile were noticeably warmer than on their first meeting, Blythe noted, and that was something that put her on edge. This woman had two faces, and she didn’t know how to feel about seeing this one after seeing the other. Or how easily it could change back.

Blythe nodded deferentially regardless, Byleth standing at her side, hands clasped behind his back at attention.

“Seteth and I were hoping to give you the good news about your teaching post together, and answer any questions you may have,” she said gently, something different that she couldn’t place in her demeanor as Seteth stepped forward.

“The decision has been made for you both to have the opportunity to choose your houses for yourselves. All of the students are at work in their classes, and we feel that it would be wise for you to go and assess them, to see which groups would suit your teaching styles,” he began, looking them over critically, the frown on his face leaving no question of his opinion on the matter. “You are to make your decisions before dinner and return here to give them so we may make the preparations.”

“This year’s class has many promising students,” volunteered Rhea, stepping forward. “It is my sincere hope that you bond with your classes and work together for the good of us all.” Her voice was warm, but the way her cold eyes were watching them both only gave Blythe shivers down her spine, giving her the certainty that she was staring death in the face. But, then again, this was nothing new for a blooded mercenary like her. And she had her brother at her side. Together they could surmount anything.

Small mercies, she supposed. She nodded. “We will do as you have asked,” she said solemnly, awaiting whatever came next.

“Very well. You’re dismissed,” said Seteth with a wave of his hand. They nodded, and made their way out and closed the door behind them, sealing away the scent of sandalwood with it.

“ _That went better than last time,”_ offered Sothis, from nowhere. Alarmed, the twins spotted her floating next to them, lounging in mid-air and yawning.

“ _We’re quick studies_ ,” Byleth said, nonplussed.

“ _Well I should hope! I can’t be following any stupid kids around, can I?_ ”

“ _A luxury we don’t seem able to afford_.”

“ _How_ dare _you! Why, if I had a physical form I'd box your ear! Ugh! You are insufferable. Did I not tell you I am_ much _older than you are?_ ”

“ _This would be the second time_.”

“ _Enough,_ ” Blythe interjected, stepping between them and squeezing her brother on the shoulder, Sothis was not particularly well equipped to come to blows, incorporeal or not, but there was no need to fight all the same. “ _In any case, if we are going to navigate this court, we have a decision to make_.”

It felt ludicrous, really, speaking words better suited to her own brother’s mouth, but their situation proved it necessary. She was the hot-headed one, not him. She sighed. “ _I know you’d lose sleep if you felt you’d made the wrong decision, By_.”

She was right, and from the way he closed his eyes and exhaled, he knew it.

“ _Very well_ ,” he said at length, his traditional mask of composure sliding comfortably back onto his face. “ _I’ll go speak to the other class representatives_.”

And with that, he left, his footsteps clacking across the stones with a quietness one could mistake for politeness instead of the careful footfall of a mercenary, and then they fell to a din. A toothy grin spread across Sothis’s face that Blythe could only describe as conspiratorial, and she let out a wicked giggle. “ _He means the Dimitri boy_ .” **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one in the bag, somehow! We hope you enjoy. Shangheists offers the following words of wisdom:  
> "idk but these twins? Suspicious of *everything.*"  
> Probably a solid policy, all things considered.
> 
> We're hard at work on the next chapter, so keep an eye out! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, we've been bowled over by the positive reception so far, we're so thankful!


	4. Gossip and Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins pick their houses, and engage in some low-stakes espionage.

For all the dread inside the church, one could almost forget there was a monastery outside. A monastery filled with people chatting and laughing, dining together, performing their daily tasks, all in the sun.

Byleth quite sincerely enjoyed the general mood of Garreg Mach, even if his sister was too prickly to enjoy it. He breathed in at the bridge that overlooked the peaks beyond, the mountain air crisp, refreshing and altogether a welcome change from a lungful of incense smoke. This was better.

He began to meander, letting his feet carry him in no particular direction as he took in his surroundings. The grounds were large, but he knew that the best way to familiarize oneself with a new place was to become lost in it. The reception hall was a familiar sight to him by this point, as was the dining hall, but the gardens held a quiet serenity that was new. The foliage muffled the sounds beyond, allowing one to turn their senses to the fragrances wafting from the flora framing a veranda. He would have to make the time to come back here.

He emerged from the hedges onto a well-manicured lawn that lay in front of what he almost missed as the officers’ academy itself for how understated it was. Three rooms ran along the building, each lacking any ornamentation aside from colorful banners on either side of the doors, denoting which room belonged to which house.

He felt a bit naked standing there without Blythe there with him, but she was sure to arrive soon enough. He rushed ahead, which admittedly was fairly out of character for him as he preferred to wait and observe. Byleth was in no position to question why, though. Before he’d even realized it, he had placed himself at the edge of a doorway, peeking into the Blue Lions classroom.

Dimitri was at the front of the class, giving some form of rousing speech.

“—best behavior! Professors Byleth and Blythe are both skilled warriors and we could all learn a lot from them,” he iterated, posture like something straight out of a portrait for how straight his shoulders were. He could be mistaken for a character out of a fairytale for how poised he held himself.

...He was staring, he realized, and he’d offended enough people already with his accidental rudeness. He pried his gaze away and scanned the classroom.

Up front were two young men, one with an endearing mop of gray that reminded him of a dove and the other with white tied back in an austere knot. These two were good students, Byleth noted, if only from how unbroken their attention was upon their house leader’s address.

Behind them were two girls with textbooks and notes sprawled out on the desk between them, likely in a shared form of study that reminded him of his sister’s side of the room on the longer assignments they shared from the sheer entropic spiral of it all. Theirs would be an instruction he would have to adapt to.

On the other side of the room were three other students who Byleth could tell would be his real challenge. A shorter young man with a grimace that could sharpen steel sat with a taller classmate whose lounging posture indicated to him that both of theirs would be a hard sell in different, opposing ways. The way the one with the blonde plait behind them groaned at a comment one had made only confirmed it.

And Dimitri stood in front of them all, the morning sun filtering in through the window behind him and framing him in all the soft light befitting a prince. It seemed to gleam in his eyes as they looked out.

 _Directly at him_.

“Oh, Professor, I didn’t see you enter,” he said, prompting several heads to whirl around to see.

Being the center of attention had always made Byleth feel nervous, but looking around, he saw only eagerness and curiosity with a certain level of earnestness that gave him the confidence to step forward into the lions’ den.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” he said with a slight bow, giving him a momentary reprieve from the piercing blue.

“I can always make time for you, Professor,” Dimitri replied, and something inside of Byleth stirred in a way that he wasn’t entirely sure was welcome or wanted. Or understood.

Somewhere in the classroom, he heard a stifled snort followed by a hiss and a fist.

Byleth coughed into his own, changing the subject before treading further into the unknown. “The Archbishop has requested that we speak with the house leaders,” he said, carefully picking each word.

Dimitri seemed to understand the meaning, replying with, “Yes, of course,” before they both walked out past the lawn.

Byleth hadn’t intended on leading them both back to the garden, but it seemed the most private place to speak where distraction would be limited. And the flowers were nice… 

“They don’t bloom like this in Faerghus,” Dimitri said, breaking the silence for him. He held his hand out towards a flower with petals like wispy curls, leaving a hair’s breadth between his fingers and the seafoam tips with all the mindfulness of someone who was afraid it might break.

“Oh? Too cold?” Byleth asked.

This made Dimitri laugh, something golden and seemingly precious that made it seem like a gift he had earned. “Quite. We don’t have anything so… delicate, but when the last of the winter snow melts, the mountainsides take on a color all their own.”

“Oh, but, forgive me, you didn’t ask me here to speak about flowers,” he said, waving himself off. “You wanted to discuss the Blue Lion house, did you not?”

“Of course,” Byleth said, finding more truth in his reply than he intended.

They sat together at a table away from the ambient noise, and looking across, Byleth regretted they didn’t have something to share while they talked. He cleared his throat nonetheless, garnering Dimitri’s attention. “So, what do you think makes the Blue Lions stand out?”

The question, straightforward as it was, seemed to propel the young prince into careful thought. He would select his words measuredly, something Byleth could appreciate.

“The Blue Lions…” he began, “...are a noble house, in the truest sense of the word. Faerghus as a whole values chivalry and virtue above all else, and that’s something that’s reflected here in the academy. The members of our house are loyal to one another and honest in their actions, which is something that’s important for us to foster in our time in the classroom so that in our time after we graduate, we will be bound together and each step up to fill the role our knightly duty requires. We will do what is right.”

Byleth waited a moment after he finished, taking in all that Dimitri said. Claude’s words about the Golden Deer that morning had been surface-level, shallow at best, and whatever Edelgard had said to his sister was a secret to him. There was something hidden there in those two, but here with Dimitri was virtue laid bare. This was honesty, upfront without necessarily being open. Byleth had asked, and Dimitri had given. No more, no less. This, more than anything, was substantial.

“Thank you,” Byleth said at length. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

“I only hope that it helps,” Dimitri replied. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No. Not for now,” he said, standing. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Dimitri rose after him, the blue velvet cloak swaying. “It’s no trouble at all. Truly”

They both made to leave then, the afternoon sun having begun to bathe the monastery in a wash of gold that filled Byleth with a strange sense of something like longing, yet tentative all the same.

“Professor?”

“Hm?”

“I… I hope to see more of you,” Dimitri said, an honest shine in his eyes. …Which promptly vanished with a deep blush. “Th-that is in the academy, not like—” He bit his lip to stop himself. “We sincerely hope to see you in the Blue Lion house.”

And with that he bowed deeply, turned on his heel, and marched back towards the classroom, leaving Byleth alone to mull over his thoughts.

Though, somewhere, he heard impish laughter.

* * *

Byleth stared out at the houses and their doors, pensive.

Rarely does the world offer you branching paths so clearly.

Though, judging by the fact that Edelgard and Blythe were both speaking outside the door to the Black Eagle classroom, perhaps that path was already closed to him.

Despite himself, he found himself creeping closer, curiosity getting the best of him as he hid behind one of the hedges near where they were speaking.

“—Lions. It really was sweet to see him so oblivious, I’ve never seen Dimitri so smitten,” Edelgard was saying conversationally to Blythe.

“Yes. Time will tell if he sees how Dimitri feels for him, it was obvious even from a moment’s observation,” answered Blythe. He knew that tone. Blythe was having fun?

What does Dimitri feel? And for who? His head was churning trying to figure it all out.

Edelgard tittered politely. “Yes, well. We’ll have to wait and see, even if I admit I felt even the attempt to woo him to my house was a lost cause, one can never know. Claude is charming, when he wants to be.”

Yes, yes, Claude, right, but what about Dimitri? “I admit, Claude put me off. He so blatantly has an agenda and pretends otherwise,” Blythe said, voicing much of his own sentiments towards the dark-haired boy. He had yet to feel what he considered a sincere act of kindness from him, for all his jocularity and cheeriness.

Edelgard made a thoughtful noise. “All three of us are meant to lead the continent. To expect any of us to be without an agenda is foolishness. Claude, Dimitri, and even me, especially me… we all have plans for our nations and the world at large.” There was the sound of heels clicking, like Edelgard was placing herself in position.

“I can use you, Blythe. You are powerful. I need powerful people,” she said, with intensity that almost sent a shiver down his spine.  
  
“I am going to build a better world. I need the strength of people like you to make it happen. Won’t you join us? Teach us to be powerful, like you?”

He could all but hear the gears in his sister’s mind turning. She rarely hesitated in her responses.

There was a whispered phrase, muffled somehow. He couldn’t make it out. There was simply the clack of Edelgard’s heels as she stepped back.

“I’m glad to hear it… teacher,” said Edelgard. Blythe said nothing more as he could hear her walking off away from the Houses.

“ _The white-haired one played her like a harp,”_ volunteered Sothis from next to him. He jolted, shame-faced. Sothis gave a mocking laugh. 

_“Relax, I won’t tell, little one. The pot shouldn’t call the kettle black.”_ Sothis floated along with a cracking yawn, following him as he awkwardly moved towards the office building where Rhea’s throne room laid.

It was there that they would meet up with Blythe again.

“Good meeting with the classes, brother?” she asked, trotting up to match his pace.

 _“Mm, nothing you wouldn’t have guessed,”_ said Sothis cheekily, sending a secretive smile Blythe’s way, to which she narrowed her eyes.

“...Right. I’ve made my decision,” she said simply, and Byleth nodded in turn.  
  
“Me too.” Without further conversation, they made their way to Rhea’s throne room, Sothis floating along, toothy grin in place. The both of them wanted to interrogate her good spirits, but they had more important matters on their minds as Blythe stepped up to knock on the Archbishop’s door once more.

Goddess knows what doors would shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the immortal words of Shangheists: "Imagine being gay AND dumb  
> Cos mate I don't have to pretend"
> 
> On a more serious note, thank you all for reading! We invite comments, and thank you all for spending this time with us.


	5. Fear the Deer, Love the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see what Claude has been up to; Blythe is a very popular lunch-time hostess.

“C’mon, Your Highness, it was just a question!”

“One I have chosen not to entertain.”

“But inquiring minds want to know!”

“And I would thank those ‘inquiring minds’ to kindly drop the subject.”

“Geez, you Faerghus folk are such stiffs. Must be the winter, or all that armor you wear. You know, I bet if you wore less of it, then— ohhh, is that what you meant by seeing more of—”

“Claude!”

Dimitri had turned a shade of red that was, quite frankly not princely for how starkly it stood out against his royal blue, though if Claude were to admit, it was exactly the outcome he had hoped for.

“That is _enough_ ,” he continued, his voice down to a secretive hiss as they entered the echoey reception hall.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claude said flippantly, raising his own with a dramatic shrug which drew more than a few pairs of eyes from studying students and clerics alike. “I just thought we were having a nice chat. Need more of those to make sure we’re just the best of friends when we’re out there leading Fódlan into a shining golden age of the future.”

Dimitri let out a less-than-dignified sigh, shoulders sagging in a way that Claude knew meant he’d won. “What is it that you want, Claude?”

“I just wanted to know what was going on with you and Teach,” he said, a small pout resting on his face to feign innocence.

“There is _nothing_ going on that you don’t already know yourself,” Dimitri said defensively. “He came to ask about the Blue Lion house.”

“But he didn’t talk to Edelgard?”

“No, I think she was speaking with his sister. I _did_ see them together”

“You don’t think that was odd?”

“Well, no, not really. I don’t see how it’s any different from our talk...” Dimitri said, his words slowing down as if in thought. “Actually, I think I did see Professor Byleth standing off watching them, almost as if he were eavesdropping.” He said, face brightening as he remembered the detail.

“See? This is why I came to you,” Claude said, clapping Dimitri across the back in a way that made him jump back to the present. “You always have just the juiciest gossip. Thanks, bud, you’ve been a big help.”

“I… you’re welcome? I don’t really see what I did.”

“Oh, you’ve just been invaluable,” Claude continued. “But, ah, you might wanna be careful. There’s some things you just don’t want people to know, and you tend to go on adorable face journeys,” He said, bopping the tip of his nose with the tip of his finger.

And with that, he turned to leave, not bothering to see the way he knew Dimitri would react, instead waving behind him as he went.

He rounded the corner into the hallways, looking to make sure no one who mattered was watching until he spotted a flash of pink fall in step next to him.

“Talk to me, Hilda,” he said. “What do you know?”

“I know that Hubert gives off some majorly creepy vibes and that his eyes just follow you _everywhere_ —”

“About Edelgard, Hilda, what do you know about Edelgard?” Claude said, cutting her off mid-grandiose gesture.

“Well, _besides_ the vibes being rancid, I know that she really seemed to dot her I’s and cross her T’s for how prim and perfect her speech was,” Hilda started. “I mean, I just don’t get it. She had to have taken _hours_ to practice, like in front of a mirror. Didn’t you all only meet these professors like a few days ago? It hasn’t even been a week and she’s doing everything she can to impress this lady. It just seems like a lot of _work_.”

“Tsk, tsk, we just can’t seem to compete with the future empress’s etiquette lessons, can we,” Claude mused. “Two new professors, and we’re losing them both to the tried and true.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, Hilda,” Claude said, shaking his head. “We’ll just have to show them that mistakes were made.”

“Ok, yeah, now I _really_ don’t follow.”

“No time to explain, we’ve got things to do, c’mon.”

The two mercenaries had been given quarters on the first floor of the student dorms, which to Claude felt like being told to sit at the kids’ table, but it was close enough to the sauna that it had its perks, he supposed. But on the first floor, they’d be subject to whatever noise would be over them, which made him wonder who would be costing them precious hours of lesson planning or sleep.

Though, with what he was seeing them do through their window, Hilda and he hiding in a shrub, he sincerely hoped that Garreg Mach didn’t have a basement because this would without a doubt get them a very nasty knock on the door.

“By the Five, what are they doing,” Hilda said in a voice low from disbelief rather than true concern for getting caught. “Are they… are they stacking the _beds_?”

There was no way they weren’t, unless double-lifting a solid oak bed frame with mattress and all was some sort of bizarre team-building exercise exclusive to mercenaries from… wherever he wasn’t from. He also doubted that the various objects they were using to prop up the legs on the top “bunk” were actually going to hold it in place, which was starting to fill the pit of his stomach with something unpleasant.

“Holy shit they’re gonna die,” Claude breathed as he watched Blythe wedge a few books under the legs to make more space between the bunks to what looked like her brother’s chagrin.

“Are they even afraid of anything?” asked Hilda, baffled and incredulous.  
  
“I couldn’t tell you, Pinkie. Blade Breaker’s their dad, they’ve probably been in life or death situations since they could swing swords,” murmured Claude, biting at his thumb as he watched them continue to make their baroque execution device.

“Guess they really want space…” offered Hilda softly. “It _is_ a small room for two,” she volunteered awkwardly.

Claude had been about to answer until he saw something that made his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch.

Blythe had reached forward and given Byleth a warm hug, rubbing small circles into his back, and murmuring something as they held each other.

Oh, pox, they actually loved each other. For real, in private, caring for one another not as a political maneuver. This was going to make everything so much more complicated. Dimitri and Edelgard with advisors who loved each other? Goddess knew what this would cause.

Claude climbed out of the bush with a rustle. “I’ve seen enough. Got some planning to do,” he said placidly, Hilda following easily enough brushing leaves and twigs out of her hair.

“What’s the plan, boss?” she asked, blowing a pink strand out of her face.  
  
“Planning. Figuring out how to use this to our advantage. I’ll have more work for you later on, my loyal gremlin,” said Claude, offering his second-in-command a warm smile as she played at being insulted with a stamp of her foot.   
  
“Fine, then. See you later, oh illustrious leader,” she said with a sarcastic wave as she traipsed off to go about her own business.

When Hilda was gone, Claude’s smile went flat and he lost himself in thought.

They love each other… that really does make this all so much more complicated.

* * *

  
Blythe had a pitched battle against her brother and Professor Manuela in just a few days. Planning was an uphill battle; battleground kept a secret, simply being told to be ready. It was not the worst situation she had been made to prepare a plan for, but it certainly could have been better.

Her children had potential, but it was still far off. She could see them so clearly in her mind, after their first spars and theory lessons. 

She may not know how to teach them, but she knew what they were good at and what they should focus on. Being a mercenary made her quite good at quick analysis, and these kids had talent.

She and her brother had also gone through the hands of enough of Jeralt’s subordinates and compatriots to get a sense of what teaching styles were effective and which were just downright abusive.

Her kids were altogether dedicated learners, Linhardt discounted. Even Caspar worked hard to muzzle his boundless energy during lecture, turning it into silent doodling on his notes.

They were much more unpredictable on the battlefield. Linhardt was still useless, but as with the theory she’d been teaching them, he always seemed to come through in the end. They fought like they had something to prove, a good trait. 

Half the class was always hoping to have her as their sparring partner, which was flattering but impractical. She’d tried to show them an object lesson on fighting multiple opponents but she’s fairly sure she moved too fast for anyone to really keep track, and a lot of the kids got hurt. Though, at least it gave Linhardt some practice.

Teaching was hard.

But that didn’t matter. This was another contract, and Blythe had never failed a contract. Her children would shine, and she would win that group battle.

...Though Byleth never lost a contract either, and from what she had yet seen, his uncanny ability to spot untapped potential in unexpected places was already raising some protest in the adjacent classroom. He would get them to see reason in time, but the way the Felix child all but violently resisted any and all thaumaturgic instruction would be a roadblock that would take some time for even her brother to get past. Though for how talented of a mage he was, she knew this not a matter of _if_ but rather _when_. She would have to make a note in her plans. No doubt he had already factored it into his, the bloody bookworm.

Her stack of combat formations for the children kept growing as she worked, plate balanced dangerously on her ledger as she prepared the next day’s notes. Taking lunch in the Black Eagle common room was becoming something of a tradition for her. This was when she prepared the next day’s lessons, and thought on class-related matters.

Ideally, when the children were more accustomed to her, they would know they could find her here to help with any difficult concepts.

This was made strange by the new visitor that was peeking in on her. Though she had not clarified, she thought she had meant it for Black Eagles and not… another green-haired stranger she’d never seen before.

“...Can I help you?” She asked from across the room, making the child (?) jolt in surprise.

“ _Ah! Hello!”_ called the child, making her blood run cold. How — how did she know that word? She _couldn’t_.

Blythe said nothing as the child (woman? If she was, she was a very child-like one) stepped forward, resplendent in her academy uniform and thick, beautiful hair.

“ _Hello Professor! I am Flayn!”_ said the child, Flayn.

“H-hello, Flayn,” said Blythe dumbly, a quick glance to her side revealing Sothis in the corner of the room gaping openly.  
  
 _“She talks like us!”_ she squealed, disappearing through the wall for reasons unknown.

“How, um. How can I help you?” Blythe asked, as if she were disarming a bomb. Green hair, Goddess, why did green hair just make her life instantly more complicated —

Flayn giggled. “ _It’s okay, Professor, I just wanted to see for myself if you really did speak our language. No one sent me, I came of my own will,”_ she said, admittedly soothing to her suddenly overtaxed nerves.

“ _Don’t tell Seteth, hmm? He’d get so grumpy if he knew,”_ she said with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Blythe nodded slowly.   
  
“We… wouldn’t want that,” she agreed cautiously. She should have lied and pretended she had no idea what she was saying, but the adorable monastery cat was out of the bag already and had come to her specifically for this.

With the sound of skidding boot-heels, Byleth appeared in the doorway with Sothis in tow. “Blythe!” he barked.  
  
“Brother,” she answered, carefully neutral. “It appears my attention is required elsewhere. Did you have any particular concerns, Miss Flayn?”

Flayn pouted. “ _Is it too much to ask to hear our tongue spoken by someone other than my ...brother and Rhea?”_ she said, sending a powerful puppy dog stare Blythe’s way, making her swallow.   
  
_“I… there is not much that feels safe to say,”_ said Blythe quietly, clutching her hands over her ledger as Byleth stepped forward, nodding towards Flayn.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’re met,” Byleth said with intensity he rarely ever showed if his refusal to speak their apparently more widely-spread language was anything to go by.

Flayn had a look of sadness run across her face, gone in an instant.  
  
“Ah… nothing, Professor Byleth. Forgive me for bothering you both,” she said softly, beginning to step away.   
  
“ _Flayn,_ ” Said Blythe softly, to Byleth’s horror. She turned, a hopeful smile on her face.   
  
_“It… was nice to meet you,”_ she said softly, guiltily. She could feel Byleth’s eyes on her, though the positively radiant smile she gave them making her feel better about it.   
  
_“To you both as well!”_ she called cheerily with a wave, running off.

There was a moment of tense silence as the doors closed behind her, leaving the twins behind.

“ _She was so cute~!”_ squealed Sothis, eager to remind them of her presence.

“ _Maybe you’ll be just as cute when you grow a little_ ,” Byleth said with the semblance of a smile as he dropped a book onto his sister’s desk.

“ _Nice try, but I will not fall into this trap a third time_ ,” Sothis said primly, pointedly turning away from him. “ _I will not go back and forth with you like a child_.”

“ _Yes, because the pouty sulk goes over so much better_ ,” he said in perfect deadpan.

“ _Ugh, fine! I can tell when my presence isn’t wanted_ ,” Sothis groaned. “ _But don’t think I won’t remember this when you come back to me wanting any help_.”

And with one last harrumph, she blinked out, gone back to whatever void she retreated to whenever she wasn’t with the two of them. Blythe stared at the spot where she was, contemplative.

“You know you can’t keep talking to her like that forever,” she said, taking a seat on her desk and crossing her legs.

“...I don’t trust her,” he said, his voice barely above a mumble like he’d been called out. He almost looked the bigger child.

“She’s lost and scared, By. She needs our help,” Blythe said, frowning. “I don’t understand what is happening either, but she is in an even worse position than us. No one else can see her, the least we can do is entertain her eccentricities,” she said with a resolute arm-cross.

“...Especially with the others who can speak our tongue,” she added as an after-thought.

“Like the Flayn girl?”

“Like the Flayn girl,” Blythe repeated, nodding.

“We can’t _trust_ them, Blythe!” he objected, his voice a carefully controlled hiss. “We don’t know what they want.”

“And?” she challenged, standing up off the desk. “So we should keep ourselves blind and dumb to the world around us? _Our made up language is spoken by ghosts and green haired Church officials,_ and that doesn’t intrigue you? Doesn't it make you want to learn about these people? What that means for us?” she asked, gesturing grandly.

“What is it that you’re afraid of, Byleth?” she asked, frustrated, turning to him as a figure opened the door.

Before Byleth could give her an answer, a voice piped up: “Hello? Professor? Is now a bad time?” It was the voice of her house leader from the entrance, sending her body language shuttering closed right before Byleth’s eyes.  
  
“No, Edelgard. Please come in,” she replied, leaning back against her desk casually, half-eaten lunch still teetering on top of its ledger.

“My brother was just leaving to think about our discussion, which isn't over,” she said, flashing a meaningful stare in his direction.

Byleth gave an annoyed huff through his nose, equivalent to a scoff and flap of arms for how he seemed to be insulted. She’d have to make it up to him, when he wasn’t being a baby. She sighed.

As ever, she would find him and kiss his aches better, just as he always bandaged her scrapes after training, no matter how she’d teased him. He stomped off, but not before turning one last time.  
  
“That’s a book on introductory Faith teaching methods. Figured you might need it, once we’re done with you on Friday,” he said primly, his hurt invisible to all but Blythe.

“... Thank you, Brother,” she said softly, as he walked on with the barest nod to Edelgard.

Edelgard stood silent until the door closed behind him. 

“Is everything alright, my Teacher?” Edelgard asked gently, walking up to the desk.

Blythe sat in her chair, offering no indications as to what happened beforehand.

“It’s nothing, Edelgard. We were simply having a spirited discussion about… personal learning goals,” she said cryptically.

“But never mind that. I imagine you did not come here simply for the pleasure of my company,” she teased, only the slightest uptick of her lips giving her away.

Edelgard smiled in turn, her body language tight and controlled. “Alas, no, my Teacher. I wished to discuss our strategies for the battle royale Professor Byleth mentioned,” she offered, leaning her hip against the desk.  
  
Blythe pulled a few choice sheets from beneath her half-eaten sandwich. “Right here. We don’t know the battlefield yet, so I prepared some baseline geometric forms to organize the troops. From there I was hoping to coach you all on break-up patterns to minimize risk to our units,” she stated authoritatively, pointing at the top sheet in example. 

“These are just the notes, mind you, but I think if we can get this down before the match we’ll have a leg up on the other houses,” she said with certainty.

Edelgard gave a thoughtful hum, fingers tracing down her face. “That sounds like a solid plan, my Teacher,” she said, casually leaning forward, soft smile on her face as she locked eyes with Blythe.  
  
“I must admit, I’m very pleased. I knew you were strong, but ...inexperienced in teaching. You seem to be taking to this role very well,” she praised, making something in Blythe’s chest lock up and wriggle simultaneously.

“...You are kind to say so, Edelgard. I am merely doing my best to fulfill my duties,” she said with a certain softness, breaking from Edelgard’s searching stare to look down at the notes she had been writing before her class room suddenly became the most popular hangout in Garreg Mach.

“Regardless, you prove yourself expertly. Hubert even let me visit you without escorting me, which for him is as good as a seal of approval,” she said with a soft giggle. 

Blythe did not smile, but she was amused. “Well, I’m glad he sees no issue with a teacher and their student spending time together,” she said. She couldn’t say why, but she felt like she had said something risky, but Edelgard simply smiled, lavender eyes swallowing her up.

“Indeed. It is a good thing. Perhaps we could debrief the battle… over tea, in the gardens?” she said, hands clasped firmly behind her back, staring off into some corner.

“Only if you want, of course,” she hastily amended.

Blythe didn’t know how to respond properly, so she simply responded honestly.  
  
“That sounds lovely, Edelgard. I would very much enjoy that,” she said, a soft quirk of her lips giving away the sincerity of her feelings.

Edelgard nodded, her smile breaking free of its carefully organized confines to give off a similar candor.  
  
“Wonderful,” she said softly. “If that is so, then I will see you in class later today, my Teacher.” And with a final respectful nod, she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Goodbye, Edelgard,” she said softly, almost as an afterthought. She was so small, but she carried herself so proudly… she watched her until the doors closed behind her, and stared at them a while after.

And yet it felt that somewhere, in there, another door had opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one bites the dust! I promise the twins love each other. In Shangheist's wise words: "Blythe and Byleth are siblings and therefore not immune to the "how come they get more juice than me" mentality."
> 
> This was a pretty fun one to write, on both our ends.


	6. There Really Is a Lot of Spying Going On At Garreg Mach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Professor Seteth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly warning, while there have been implications up to now, if you didn't catch on, manaketes are spoiler-tastic and Seteth will spoil a large amount of Deep Lore just by thinking. Spoilers ahead, be warned!

Seteth was nothing if not a dedicated administrator. He had been Rhea’s right hand for longer than he cared to think, their small family living in Garreg Mach as his sister hid their identities and assured that none would pose any invasive questions.

It had not been easy. Rhea’s goals were… esoteric, at best, and he was often the one tasked with picking up the pieces of her seemingly random decisions.

Like taking on the Eisners.

That alone had proven exhausting. Preparing rooms, notifying the Knights to prepare for the return of their prodigal leader, preparing the payroll.

Jeralt he could at least understand; despite the suspiciousness of his disappearance and return, he was a truly gifted combatant with years of service to the Church.

His children, though… the mere thought made him frown.

He did not understand her fascination, at least to start. Two mercenaries, barely-blooded to teach the children who would rule the continent? Madness.

But then they’d _spoken those words._

He hadn’t spoken in his mother tongue outside of a locked room in centuries. And these children, these nobodies… were speaking it openly without truly knowing.

There were no more Children of the Goddess. They were the last. So how, how did they learn it?

Whatever the case, Rhea seemed to know something he didn’t, another frustrating fact of life he had to learn to grow accustomed to. Rhea had her secrets, and he knew well about her dreams of raising their mother from the dead, even if he thought it to be nonsense.

He had tried on more than one occasion to sway her course, but she was more than committed. Her eyes would slit and her teeth would bare at the mere suggestion of leaving their mother behind.

Ridiculous.

He owed Rhea his life, and more importantly his daughter’s, but dead was dead. His wife was buried in the sands, and nothing would bring her back, no matter how fervently he prayed.

Despite his sister’s… eccentricities, she still deserved and needed his help, which was why he had taken it upon himself to question her decisions, as he had rightly done many times before. He needed to see how these new teachers were stacking up.

This type of reconnaissance was distasteful to him, but he did not have many other options as he walked up to the table the Blue Lions house had claimed for their own. Their Professor mercifully was elsewhere; presumably in their classroom, if the intelligence Flayn had offered him was good, which he was sure it was.

“Dimitri,” said Seteth with a nod to the seated royal who turned, eyes wide, one of his fellow classmates stifling a grin rife with schadenfreude.

“Professor Seteth. How may I help you?” he asked, beginning to leave his seat before he stopped him with a raised hand.

“No need to stand, Dimitri. I just have a few questions for you and your classmates that I was hoping you could answer,” he said diplomatically, hands behind his back, chest out, chin up.

Dimitri blinked, a slight furrow to his brow in confusion. “Well, certainly, Professor Seteth. How can we assist?” he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him, the remainder of the class all having caught sight of him and watching him with various levels of curiosity, from fascinated and failing to hide it, as with the red-haired boy, to doing all they could not to acknowledge his presence from the amber-eyed boy at the far end.

Seteth stepped around the table, not seating himself but standing in the empty space. The students were all looking at him, which he supposed was a good thing.

“I am merely surveying the students to get an idea of how the new teachers are doing. They are still… new to the role, and as such, it is important that we are aware of any areas for improvement,” he said formally, staring at no one in particular.

Dimitri nodded in understanding, along with a few of the other students. “This is a completely casual survey, one which you can rest assured will remain anonymous and private. If you have any notes, good or bad to give Professor Byleth, after having had him for the week I ask to hear them,” added Seteth. He pulled a notepad from his robes.

“He’s strong,” volunteered the amber-eyed boy near the other end of the table.

“I must concur with Felix’s comment, the Professor is very skilled in combat,” added Dimitri.

“I don’t need you adding to my points, _boar_ ,” hissed the other child, eyes sharp.

“I see,” said Seteth, stepping in before the argument grew worse. It was not necessarily Byleth’s fault that there was obvious animosity between students in his class, especially so early, but he certainly took note of it.

“Um, he’s a bit scary,” volunteered a sweet girl in pigtails with a raised hand. He could imagine a younger Flayn wearing her hair like that.

“How do you mean, Miss?” he asked gently, what passed for a smile on his face as he looked at her.

“Um, he doesn’t… emote, much. I can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious, ever. I don’t think any of us can tell,” she offered nervously, darting her eyes over to Dimitri who frowned but did not disprove her.

“But he clearly cares,” volunteered the blonde woman next to her who’d clasped her hand reassuringly. “He is very patient, and knows a lot about all of the subjects we’ve covered.” Her pigtailed friend nodded vigorously in response.

Seteth nodded, jotting notes down in his notebook. He looked over the students at the table silently, waiting to see if anyone else had anything to volunteer.

“I do think maybe we’re being too quick to judge, though,” another girl, the one whose hair was tied back in a simple braid, offered as she moved the greenery around her plate idly with her fork. “It has only been a week, and he seems like he’s simply being cautious as he gets to know us.”

“I think he might just be shy,” said the boy across from her with a delicate sort of conviction in his voice. “I did see him leave the dining hall early after supper last night to give his scraps to some of the cats by the dock.”

“I can only hope that they appreciated the fine cooking,” a man to the right of the prince said, shaking his head slightly as if in disappointment.

“Oh, surely!” he said with a rosy smile. “I don’t think they would have crawled into his lap purring and let him pet them if they didn’t.”

“Ooh, they never let me do that!” the girl in the pigtails whined.

“That’s because you’re too loud, Annie,” the blonde girl giggled.

The boy with the intense stare sighed. “You’re all too loud,” he grumbled, earning a clap to the back from the red-headed boy next to him.

“C’mon, Fe, no need to be so sour,” he said, looping his arm around the other’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’d share if you asked.”

This earned him a sharp shove that sent him off the edge of the bench, yet he laughed despite the other’s hissed threats.

Seteth finished taking down the notes, nodding to himself.

“Thank you for your opinions on the matter. Have a good remainder of your day,” he said formally, leaving them to their youthful rabble-rousing.

Well, those were good signs, at least… it seemed the students had taken a liking to him quickly, and he was serving them well in his teaching. It was still early in the school year, but if the trend continued he would serve competently.

He nodded to himself, looking over at the Black Eagles on the other side of the hall. They seemed more subdued, over all. Edelgard was watching him, wide lilac eyes unwilling to leave a single detail un-noted.

He sighed to himself and braced to do the same all over again.

“Edelgard,” he said, while still a polite distance away.

“Professor Seteth,” she answered, looking him over. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” she offered, with that unerringly polite smile that unnerved him.

“I am merely surveying the student body for their opinions on their new teachers. I was hoping to inquire as to whether any of the Black Eagles had thoughts or opinions on their new Professor,” he said, unsheathing his notepad once more.

A russet-haired boy stood up in his seat. “The Professor may not be a noble, but they have the bearing of one! She is dignified and respectful!” he cried passionately, clenching his fist as he did, before being roughly pulled back into his seat by the black-haired man next to him.

“She is competent. Her knowledge as of yet has proven accurate, with a sharp eye to correct faults,” the dour-faced boy said, crossing his arms.

“And stunning to see in action,” a woman in a jaunty hat sighed dreamily, leaning into her palms.

“Yeah! Teach’s awesome, she’s so strong! She took five of us on at once and won!” a blue-haired boy bragged. “She even manages to get Lin to stay awake and work! ...Sometimes!” he said, grabbing what he assumed to be Lin and shaking him cheerily.

“S-scary…” murmured the mousy child a few seats away. Ah, Seteth was beginning to see a pattern. He marked his notepad, as another woman spoke.

“She is having strong passion, and works to make us strong. She may have quietness, but she is doing her best to do well,” she said firmly.

Hm. The twins, it seemed, were much alike in teaching styles, if their students were to be believed. There was no further need to discuss the matter.

Seteth nodded to the table. “Thank you for your observations. Rest assured, your notes shall remain confidential and anonymous. Good day to you all,” he said modestly, before walking off.

Well, it was positive at least. As much as it frustrated him that Rhea’s “have faith” comment was proving to have merit, at least the children were being instructed adequately. He’d already received a note on Jeralt’s reception with the Knights from his contact there, and it seemed all was well with Rangeld backing him. That didn’t mean he didn’t have questions, though.

He had paced out to the pond without realizing. He gave a soft sigh. Not for the first time, he ached for the old days. He missed his wife, and even the waves on a little pond like this could make him think of her if he was caught unawares. Her scales had reminded him of crashing waves, so long ago. When he was more than he is. She would fly across the sea, wings becoming one with the waves she kicked up in a sight to behold. He wanted to fly with her again. He wanted to fly on his own, period.

He wanted to catch a fish in his claws and eat it raw. As much as he hid it, he was a dragon at heart.

Alas, he turned from the pond, eager to return to his office and get himself under control. These strange… keteling children had him lost in days better left behind, and that had proven to never be healthy for him. Upon second reflection, he should not be left with his thoughts right now.

He would check in on Cethleann. It sounded like a better idea, as he missed her. Surely she had some time to spare for her dear “brother.” He raised his nose into the air and scented for her. Of course, as ever, she had been by the pond recently, it bringing up fond memories for her as much as for him. He followed the scent dutifully.

The trail led in strange directions. Seteth’s brow furrowed as he followed it behind the Officer’s Academy, stopping abruptly in front of an open window. Cautiously, he stepped forward, carefully keeping an ear open for her voice.

“— _fish. I miss it so_ ,” sighed his daughter dreamily through what he now recognized as the rear window of the Blue Lions classroom.

She had ignored his wishes, he realized with a sort of exhausted resignation and a sigh he hadn’t failed to suppress. He couldn’t say he was surprised; the allure of other manaketes, even half-breeds or whatever they were, would be fascinating to her. She had always dreamed of a larger family… something he could not give her.

That had been taken from her by a world he had not been strong enough to protect her from.

“ _I see. Perhaps if I or my sister catch one, we could give it to you, then_ ,” said the boy, Byleth, neutrally.

She giggled, a smile evident in her voice. “ _Only if I can share it with you both, Byleth_ ,” she said gently, in a tone of voice she rarely used since she became Flayn.

 _“... You don’t have to do that, Flayn_ ,” the boy offered meekly. _“We’re strangers to you, and I’m not sure if your brother would appreciate you growing close to us. And, frankly, I certainly don’t trust myself or my sister to speak with him or Rhea alone,_ ” he said, voice deceptively soft compared to the few times he had heard him speak.

Flayn gave a blustery sigh. _“...I think we are more alike than you think, Byleth. We have both been sheltered in different ways_ ,” she said softly, a bitter sort of sadness tingeing her words. Seteth swallowed uncomfortably.

“ _We… those of us who speak this language have had to work hard to keep ourselves safe. I think they’re just surprised you speak it. We haven’t met anyone who has in a long, long time, and they certainly didn’t make it up as children_ ,” she said gently.

The room was silent for an uncomfortably long time, Seteth beginning to wonder if they’d left the room until Byleth spoke up. “ _We never wanted to cause trouble_ ,” he said in that soft voice of his, a hint of steel beginning to creep into his tone. “ _We don’t like being the center of attention. It feels like we’ve accidentally fallen into a pit of intrigue, and I for one am not fond of it_ ,”

Flayn hummed, the clack of her heels suggesting she had hopped off of a desk. “ _We speakers have no shortage of that, I’m afraid_ ,” she said apologetically, even as her enigmatic reply confirmed her assessment. “ _I don’t wish to upset you, but this tongue has a long history, and it is not a happy one. We still bear those wounds_ ,” Byleth gave a gentle “hmm” of acknowledgement.

“ _All this, and I have children to teach. Should have paid more attention to where I stepped_ ,” he bemoaned, in perfect monotone.

Flayn giggled fondly. “ _There there, Byleth. It’s not your fault. You’ll make it through. I promise we’re not bad people_ ,” she assured gently.

There was another silence. “... _Thank you for seeking me out, Flayn. I was unsure about you at first, but this helped set my mind at ease. I admit it is... nice, to speak to other people in this tongue as well_ ,” Byleth stated honestly.

Seteth was in an awkward position. As displeased as he was with Cethleann for ignoring his wishes, this was proving a very helpful exploration of one mysterious professor that had entered their midst.

He was loath to admit that he seemed… a polite and pleasant young man, and not a mysterious danger. He treated Flayn with respect and proved cautious, as he well should, considering the fangs he and Rhea had poised at their throats, whether they knew it or not.

He did not consider spycraft an honorable way to gather information, but he had to admit he’d learned a lot more standing outside this window than he had canvassing students. Flayn was toeing a dangerous line, but she had yet to give away anything meaningful, and he knew he’d trained her well enough not to make any mistakes about this.

“ _I like it too, Byleth. You and your sister are very kind. And so skilled! I certainly believe you two have spoken our tongue since childhood as your father said_ ,” she volunteered cheerily.

“ _But as much fun as this has been, I fear I should be going. F-Brother will likely notice my absence soon_ ,” she said sadly, signalling his need to vacate the premises immediately.

Silently, Seteth pulled back, quickly jogging back onto the standard walk-ways of the monastery looking busy with his notepad in hand, writing notes about what he’d just heard well away from the Officer’s Academy building and trying very hard to seem uninteresting.

Byleth and Blythe Eisner… gifted warriors well-liked by their students. Capable of speaking Kete, and not only that but the antiquated dialect they themselves spoke if there were other manaketes elsewhere.

They did not smell like true manaketes, no, nor did they smell human. Jeralt was a wall when it came to questions about his children, or their mother. Not that Rhea was forthcoming on any particular fronts, either, though his suspicions were beginning to form questions that merited investigation.

All told, they were and would likely remain the most fascinating mystery at Garreg Mach for years to come.

...At least for him.

Seteth sighed once more. He was on edge after his impromptu spy adventure. Now would be a good time to retire to his study.

He really could do with a bracing cup of tea.


	7. The Mock Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The houses go to war.
> 
> Well, a mock one at least.

Blythe was... almost let down by how generic the battlefield ended up being. After the long hours she had spent planning and scrapping contingencies, formations to account for any conceivable setting, from chokepoint-laden valleys to wide, featureless deserts they fought... in a lightly forested plain.

She wasn't annoyed, per se; more disappointed. She had been hoping for something that would challenge her and her students, but it looked like it really would be a plain, by the books battle royale without much use of the environment beyond use as cover. No clever boulder traps or chokepoints, no murder holes, not even elevation to abuse.

Her father had her and Byleth figuring out combat scenarios like this before they'd been ten.

Regardless, she couldn't let her guard down. Professor Manuela was also gifted in Faith and had the best starting position, and Byleth was... Byleth. If she left him alone he'd have a trebuchet firing on their position in two hours he built by hand because he knew how to build a trebuchet, probably.

She wanted to be in the thick of it, she truly did; the children were full of potential, but would hardly slow her down if she wanted to take them out. Edelgard lead valiantly from the front, Blythe lobbing fire with Dorothea at her side as the Deer, Lorenz she remembered vaguely attempted to lure them near the Deer's forests. 

She was no fool, though, she'd warned Edelgard about exactly this ploy the moment their positions had been dictated. Claude was a gifted archer and Edelgard knew that. Those trees needed to be breached in one step or not at all. Ferdinand was doing a good job as rearguard, raising the purple-haired boy's ire with taunts about what was or wasn’t particularly _noble_ about it all, having him push further than he was likely meant to. He was good, perhaps as good as Ferdie as she had come to know him, but that's why she'd ordered Bernadetta to shadow him.

At least, she _hoped_ she'd take her shot soon. Not that she doubted Ferdinand's skill, but they couldn't fight forever. Regardless, it was in hand so she turned to the real threat. Dimitri was dangerously strong, and his frontline was skilled. 

Petra darted forward, attempting to flank Dimitri was Caspar tried to keep him occupied, when after a clean parry he pivoted to where she was preparing to strike, sword raised only to take a lance to the gut.

It was only Caspar and Dorothea’s combined efforts that gave Petra the space needed to limp back to Linhardt, who cast a spell on her with a murmured word.  
  
“I am being sorry, Linhardt,” she gasped as the wound knit.   
  
“It’s what happens. He’s strong, don’t give up, because if he gets near me I’m yielding.” He said sleepily even now, his hands over her wound as it closed.

Her brother's admirer was truly skilled. Even with she and Dorothea keeping the rest of the Lions from assisting their leader. He was handling the 2-on-1 well. Losing ground slowly, but not without making them pay dearly for it. She could only hope the Deer were proving a nuisance for them too. She counted them all mentally, trying to remember faces and names as well as skill sets. She hadn't seen the pink-haired girl yet — _Hanna_ , was it? — and she was hard to miss, so she must have been in the melee across the way where she couldn't see, keeping the Lions’ casters and ranged forces occupied.

The best way to break this stalemate would be to break the half-hearted Deer offensive.

She leapt down from her vantage point on one of the trees at the edge of the forest, ordering her children to keep on the defensive as she ran to the other end of the battlefield. Petra and Caspar pulled back more comfortably into Dorothea's range, even Linhardt offering some half-hearted cover fire.

Lorenz needed to get taken off of the map so she could free up her rear. Once she had, she'd flood that blonde killing machine Dimitri with threats if he wouldn't break. She could handle whatever Claude and Manuela decided to send her way. 

Moving at a quick jog, she called to Ferdinand: “Seasons turning!” signalling the changing of the guard. She was gratified to see a few arrows scattered around the dueling pair as well. 

Good.

Even as she leapt in, sword gleaming, she was gratified Bernadetta was doing her best. She was one of her more difficult students along with Linhardt, but it was no small triumph that she was contributing. She could help shore up her confidence if she proved she was trying, and for all her trembling and quivering, she really was a good shot. She knew she had steady hands; her tells were in her embroidery hoops. 

The shoulder wound keeping Lorenz on his back foot and unable to press the advantage was likely her doing. She turned her head to address Ferdinand, and Bernadetta wherever she hid in the trees.   
  
“Shore up the East, the Lions are staging an offensive and we need reinforcements,” She said, voice low so only Ferdinand her. “Take Bernadetta and assist, I’ll take it from here,” she ordered gently. Ferdinand nodded, an exhilarated smile on his face. “Yes, Teacher!”

Ferdinand fell back with a final cry of "Good luck!" before she and Lorenz were staring each other down.

"I suggest you yield," she recommended placidly, sword catching the afternoon sun's glint.

"Alas, Professor, that would not befit a noble such as I," he said with the resolute air of someone who knew he was there to buy time.

"Very well, then, I won't question your commitment. En garde," she intoned, offering a duelist's salute. By no means did she intend to play fair or believe in noble duels on live battlefields, but they both knew that Lorenz was going down, and she could respect a soldier who understood his duty and could offer him a sign of respect for that. She'd fought beside more cowardly lots than he.

Lorenz gave a tense nod, lance sliding into combat stance. In a blur, she was on him. He was quick, stepping ably to stop her from getting inside his guard. They danced in a tense circle, Blythe rushing forward trying to force a misstep as Lorenz looked for an opening.

It couldn't have been more than 20 seconds that Lorenz rapidly tried to fall back into what she assumed to be the archer's trap behind him before it all came to an end. Lorenz swung his spear around to force some distance between them, and with a deft half-step she grabbed hold of the butt of it and pushed, forcing him to continue with his momentum until he was half turned away and her (blunted) sword was at his neck.

"I believe that's a kill, sir," she stated softly, Lorenz standing perfectly still.

"Quite so, Professor. I yield. And well played," said Lorenz, disappointed but still offering necessary niceties. 

She gave him a fond pat on the head for reasons she wasn't quite sure of.

"You did well. You stuck to your leader's plan and fought skillfully. You will be a good knight," she said gently, a soft smile curling her lips.

Lorenz's cheeks turned almost as red as his boutonnière as she ran off to join her soldiers on the Eastern front.

When she finally broke the treeline and got onto the battleground, she wasn't happy with what she saw, but it was acceptable. The reinforcements had definitely been needed; Dimitri was still up, and Byleth was in the fray. With that blonde healer supporting and guarded by the red-haired lancer and the rest of the team missing, they had a composition that would put down even all of them combined with a bit of time.

Dimitri and her brother were a well-oiled machine. Had they been planning their team maneuvers? She grit her teeth. They needed to divide and conquer. With a flare of fire blazing to split them, she rushed into the fray, locking blades with the — wow, _impressively_ strong house leader for the Lions. If she didn't break the stalemate she'd lose her footing, something she hadn’t expected to even be a _possibility_ with these green recruits.

Seriously, Caspar wasn't half as strong, and he was the hardest hitter they had!

"Separate them from each other!" she barked in her warmaster's voice, deafening to those unprepared, meant to echo across grand battlefields.

Within an instant, she could sense Byleth behind her as she broke their deadlock and fired a flare at his chest to force him to keep distance. He dodged, as she knew he would. The only reason Dimitri didn't skewer her then and there was a well-timed shot from little Bernie as she fell back.

She watched her students circling the pair now, Caspar, Petra and Ferdinand prowling for the right moment to strike. 

"Having fun, By?" she asked, cock-sure and cheery.

"Enormously. Your kids aren't half-bad, Bly," he said, matching her good cheer as his eyes followed them unerringly.

"Well, your house leader over there is some sort of ogre, I'll tell you that. Won't save him though," she said, shifting back into a proper battle stance.

The next move was simple. "Dog pile the healer!" she roared, diving after Byleth and Dimitri, both caught off guard.

It was a crazy plan, but this was a nonlethal bout; just the place to try those and see if they worked. There were two options from this point; either one or both of them broke off to save their healer and her guard or they'd pile on her. She might lose, but she had faith her students could take them down fast enough she didn't end up "dead."

Either they scored some kills, separated them or both. It was going to be the feather in her cap if she could just make this work—

It happened quickly, as she'd always imagined her death would come. As if they had practiced it, they caught her in a perfect trap. Byleth caught her charge, Dimitri deftly tripping her leading foot at the moment he locked swords with her and her footing was weakest. 

She stumbled mid-charge, and with a rough side-tackle from Dimitri she was dazed on the floor, her brother's sword at eye level with her.

"This is where you yield, Miss Eisner," said Dimitri from on top of her, just a trifle smugly.

And then, something she did not expect happened.

A titanic sound, like a cliff collapsing, like a dozen cannons firing at once in her ear, like a deafening gong strike reverberating through her with the clarity of a chime, every particle of her being vibrated with its force.

It was an indescribable feeling of unleashed power, like if she stopped focusing entirely on this soul-shaking force overflowing inside of her it would spill out of her and the rest of her would fall out with it.

It was like, for just a brief moment, she had become unto a god, the pointless worries of the world below passing fancies to be fixed at her whim.

So, she decided, she would.

Like the goddess she was, with a single thought she focused on what she wanted to fix. Oh, that's right, she'd lost. How unfortunate. She should make that go better for her.

So she did.

The very next instant, as if she had been at the bottom of the deepest lake in Fódlan and suddenly dragged up to the surface for her first gasp of air in an eternity, she was standing in front of Dimitri and her brother, her students circling them, cold sweat at the back of her neck, stomach trying to fly out of her mouth.

Byleth looked at her, gaping openly at her in obviously terrified confusion. It was all Blythe could do not to cackle maniacally despite her shakiness after that mind-expanding experience she'd just had, settling for a wide grin and locking eyes with him.

With a delicate raising of her hand, she gave her order: "Lock them down, _I'll_ take the healer."

From there, it was almost peaceful. She sailed forward, and took down her guard with ease. A bulky lancer similar to Lorenz, she did the same thing she did with most: she baited his thrust, slammed it down, pulled, and then she jammed her sword in his throat. 

With nary a by-your-leave after running a line over his throat, she kept running towards the now-terrified woman frantically preparing to fire a spell, the shot going wide without her even needing to dodge. 

A sword at her throat, and she was down too. A quick pivot showed the stalemate had not stood; it seemed they had decided to bullrush out of the blockade, only to be swarmed by her students as she knew they would. Edelgard was down, Caspar too, but so was Byleth, leaving only Dimitri. He was backing away cautiously, lance at the ready. 

Time to end this. With casual bluster, she jogged up to stare down the blonde boy.

"I'm stronger than my brother in a fair fight. I suggest you yield," she offered, sword hanging from her hand lazily.

Dimitri scoffed. "Faerghus does not kneel so easily!" he roared, charging her with lance raised.

It was a fun fight, all told. Her students looked on dumbly as she took on the storybook prince with an ogre's strength. He was fast, too. Solid lance-work, good fundamentals. His feet were stable at each step, no cheap trips like with bandit rabble.

She smiled despite herself, blood warming at the feel of a good fight. They danced and weaved between each other, a lethal ballet, dodging points and edges by scant inches, whirling around each other like dervishes.

She could see her brother had given him advice and tailored instruction. She saw him in the way he moved his hips, kept his center of gravity well-managed. Not a common lesson to teach a lancer, but the sign of any good one.

The tipping point was when fire flared in her off-hand. In the middle of dodging another tight swing, she dropped it effortlessly at his feet, forcing him to jump away or have his feet singed. In that moment of imbalance, she grabbed his lance and tugged viciously so that he was forced to let a hand go or be dragged into her waiting sword.

At that point it was a simple matter to find an open spot as he tried to wrest control of his lance back, to add her momentum to his and tackle him with all her might.

To his credit, he stumbled but did not fall, but it was over all the same. She was inside his guard, the point of her sword leveled directly at his stomach.

There was a moment of stillness as Dimitri grasped the situation he was in. With a despairing slump of his shoulders, he dropped his lance.

"Yield," he stated miserably, looking to all the world like a kicked puppy. 

Blythe stepped back, breathing heavily. "It was a good fight," she said, a trifle awkwardly given the situation. Byleth came up behind her, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It was. Good work, Dimitri," he offered, a hint of warmth she believed was visible only to her shining through in his words.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said dejectedly. "I should have protected you better, like we'd practiced."

"It's alright, Dimitri. We had not planned for that eventuality, but we will learn from it. That is why we have these mock battles," Byleth offered soothingly, squeezing his shoulder tight.

"It was a good effort, brother," she said gently, catching his searching eyes, the question obvious.

" _I don't know, either. We'll talk later,_ " she whispered in their tongue.

“That was _nuts,_ teach!” cheered now-dead Caspar, locking her in an affectionate headlock, squeezing an “oof” out of her.   
  
“Y-yeah! And-and-and I _helped!”_ responded Bernadetta. 

There was a general murmuring of appreciation she let them get out of their system before she broke off and faced them down.

“Just a constructive note for next time, Eagles? When you see someone in one-on-one combat, usually you try to help them instead of gawping like a fish,” she said, doing her best to inject some humor into her voice to soften the blow. There was awkward laughter from her front-lines especially.

“And you did, Bernadetta. That was a great shot. Without it I’d be dead right now,” she congratulated, giving Bernadetta a gentle smile.

Bernadetta, predictably, turned bright red and hid in her collar.

With that said, she put her hands on her hips. “Now, we still have the Deer to take on; Byleth and Dimitri will have their team-mates stand down, but we have more work to do yet,” she stated authoritatively, as she had for many mercenary groups before.

Her children nodded, gripping their weapons tightly.  
  
“We’re doing this fast and clean. We’re going to push through the tree-line as fast as we can, and form into our discussed formations. Once we’re safe, we form the shield wall and crush them beneath our heels,” Blythe finished, before beginning to head Northwest, towards the Deer starting line. She had a feeling they’d turtle and try to trap them on the push.

It would have been a good plan, if she and her brother weren’t there. Byleth obviously wouldn’t tell her, but she was sure he’d already done some work on them. All that was left was sweeping up the leftovers and putting a sword to Claude’s neck.

They made it to the tree-line together, and she rarely felt more cowed by an empty field. They were visible from anywhere, they had no cover, and there were too many places for an opponent to strike from. There was only one way to do this, and that was to dead-sprint and take down the defenses before they could get any free shots.

She turned to her children. “We’ve practiced evasive drills. They’ve absolutely got ranged units in those trees, so put that to use. Keep close to Ferdinand and Linhardt, and do your best. On my signal,” she said, voice low with her Eagles surrounding her, their eyes wide and hanging on her every word.

It was so different from the mercenaries. She had led many times, but they, her flock, relied on her so unreservedly, they looked up to her…

She didn’t want to let them down. She turned to stare at the field, raising her hand.

With a sharp cut through the air, they were off. The rest of the Eagles followed behind her as she dashed forward, and like clockwork, the arrows and motes of dark energy flying with impressive accuracy. She hadn’t packed a shield, she could only dodge.

They sprinted through it, heedless of anyone but themself until they got to the other side, finding the sources of the fire. It seemed all the Deer had waited for this chance. Claude and the spectacled boy both turned, not balking at the range, unloading their arrows on Blythe and her Eagles. It was admittedly bloody. They were skilled. 

Ferdinand took a shot to the chest that had Lin on him in moments, and they kept falling back into what the group soon realized was a forest of booby traps. Tripwires, pits, Blythe could only give grudging respect for it. They’d managed to slow their assault to a crawl, peppering them with fire and leaving Linhardt running himself ragged as the team took damage.

The best laid plans of mice and teachers, thrown to the wayside… it was a free-for-all, now.

It was definitely slow going, but they still managed to keep pushing. The forest, while trap-laden was still as much a disadvantage for the ranged attackers as an advantage, and while Bernadetta seemed to be MIA, Dorothea was still giving as good as she got.

The melee fighters were doing a good job all the same; Petra was gliding through the forests as if she were born to them, deftly dodging the traps and keeping Claude on the back-foot. Only his seemingly encyclopedic memorization of the traps and how to trip them to his advantage stopped her from trapping him.

Blythe was hard-pressed; they clearly wanted her down before they got through the forest, and the albino woman was a danger. She winged her with one of her spells, and Blythe’s entire arm was pins and needles.

Dark magic really was a rare and valuable skill, and she doubted she could channel any of her own through that arm for the rest of the battle. All the same, she fought on. She and Ferdinand were the ones to break through her defenses, and while she hit viciously, she couldn’t take it.

Blythe and Ferdinand nodded wordlessly, having trained for taking down a caster. Normally it would have gone more cleanly, but the traps were a serious pain.

Blythe rushed forward with a cry, drawing her fire, intentionally taking a shot from her blocked by her forearms to offer an enticing target. She knew it worked when she saw her eyes glint, lining up another shot, tunnel-visioned as Ferdinand charged forward, lance slamming into her brutally. Unquestionably dead, and in need of a medic sooner rather than later.

After she fell, Ferdinand kneeled nervously over her, uncorking his vulnerary, drizzling the entire bottle over the wound, staunching the worst of the bleeding. Good, that would keep her stable until the end of this.

Her arms could barely clench now, though, rendering her useless to a melee. All she was good for was as a distraction. 

It was a good thing, then, that Petra managed to break past the Deer’s other archer and take them down. Only Claude and the healer.

They were all exhausted. Claude was just dragging them through the forest, but to that extent, there wasn’t much he could do.

“You’ve proven your point, Claude! You trapped the entire forest, but the fight’s lost. We can all play cat and mouse, but you know how it’s going to end. Save us all the trouble, yield!” she cried through the trees.

“I dunno, Teach, you’re gonna have to sweeten the pot a bit!” he called, dodging Petra yet again, setting off a snare that half-caught Petra’s leg and forced her to hack through the rope as he fell back.

“Fine, Claude, name your price!” she yelled, put-upon. All she wanted was an end to this.

“Tea once a week, and a lesson with one of my students once a week!” he called, cheerily.  
  
“Ugh, _fine,_ Claude, just yield!” she barked, hoping her exhaustion didn’t show through too much. She was just thankful he didn’t ask for more.   
  
“Okey-doke! We yield!” he called happily, putting away his bow. The Eagles breathed a collective sigh of relief.

There was a moment of milling as their healer, who Claude called Marianne went to attend to their mage and Linhardt stepped up to heal her own wounds. Before long, Claude was upon her as she knew he would.

“Good match, Teach!” he said, smiling with his hands behind his head.

“I’ll give credit where it’s due, Claude. I have no idea how you set up all these traps. Where’s Professor Manuela?”  
  
“Oh, your brother got to her,” he said, blasé. Right, the rules were either the Professor and the House leader fall, or the team yields, something Byleth had sent Seteth a note about in hopes of perhaps altering the rules for verisimilitude since most command structures had multiple heads. He had agreed, and the deed was done.

With the wounded stabilized, the groups gradually limped back to base camp, the Eagles giving each other a haggard cheer.

As they all gradually made their way back, it was… not peaceful, but placid. Everyone was spent, it had been a long day’s fight.

“Sooo, tea on Fridays?” offered Claude, out of the blue. Blythe sighed.  
  
“Claude, can we discuss this later? We’re all tired,” she said, letting some of her exhaustion show.

“Fine, fine,” he acceded easily. There was camp ahead of them cresting over the hill. … Oh.

Rhea and Seteth were there, Sothis standing by them, as were the rest of the students and teachers. She gulped despite herself. Poor Byleth had been alone with them for what must have been two hours…

“Welcome, champions!” called Rhea with open arms. Slowly, they all made their way, standing before the archbishop and Seteth a trifle awkwardly.  
  
“Greetings, students,” Seteth said simply, clasping his hands together in question. “First things first, then, who was the victor?”

“The Black Eagles,” answered Blythe neutrally. She looked between the two of them and Sothis gesturing with her thumb towards Byleth before pointing it down and sticking her tongue out.

Seteth nodded to himself. “Well, congratulations to you, then, Black Eagle House. To celebrate your victory, there will be a feast held in your honor. All are welcome, naturally, however,” he stated in a way that did not offer much in the way of congratulations so much as the feeling of one reciting a rote phrase.

There was a smattering of cheers from a few of the students at the pronouncement before Rhea silenced them with a wave of her hand.  
  
“Mighty warriors, I congratulate your efforts. All present have fought hard and shown honor and skill; to the winners, I give my praises. To those defeated, I applaud your efforts. You are proving an impressive crop of students this year, and it is with pride that I state that you will be serving the people directly, from this day on!” she called, voice sonorous and hypnotizing. Terrifying though she was, Blythe had to admit; she knew how to give a speech.

“Once per moon, all classes will be given tasks to serve the people of the region and beyond; these will be true missions, with real foes and stakes. It is my hope that the knowledge that you will be challenged this way only strengthens your resolve to study and train to the fullest. May the light of the Goddess guide you all in your duties,” she finished with a nod to the gathered students. 

Seteth nodded in turn, and with no further fanfare, they were off, the green-haired heads of the Church leading them on the long march home. It would be a while before they reached Garreg Mach, but they’d make it before nightfall, if only just.

With everyone back together, the various groups were segregated mostly by house once more in their long train. Except for her brother, who found her.

He sidled up next to her, voice indicative in its quiet restraint as he asked, “So are we going to talk about it?”

“ _I’ll save you both the trouble and just take responsibility now,”_ volunteered Sothis, who popped up suddenly and without warning, as she was wont to do.

As one, they narrowed their eyes at her. “ _You?_ ”

“ _Yes! You, Byleth, were mean to me, and Blythe was kind! In recompense, I used my powers to give her a second chance during the battle_ ,” she said cockily, hands at her hips and chin raised, fang poking out of her mouth as she _harrumphed_ happily.

There was a beat, and then another as the twins digested this statement.

“ _You can control time?” “I was_ **_mean_ ** _to you?”_ the twins hissed in unison. Sothis cackled at their response, floating up in delight.

“ _Yes, you big oaf! Oh, you thought little Sothis was just an annoying ghost, didn’t you! Well, guess what? I’m strong too!”_ she said, fiery with indignation, poking an intangible finger into Byleth’s chest as they walked. “ _And you lost because you couldn’t see that._ ”

“ _And yes, sweet Blythe, time travel! I can do it at will, within reason. With a bit of effort I can pull you back even a few hours, a few times a day. Thank you for noticing!”_ she continued, leveling a fanged smile Blythe’s way. “But only relative to the ‘true’ time! We can’t chain my Pulses that way, only a few hours back, nothing more,” she clarified.

“ _Pulses?_ ” asked Byleth meekly, suitably cowed.

“ _Yes, pulses. Divine Pulses, I call them. Will you mock their name, too?”_ she asked, arms crossed and glaring at him at eye level, floating before him as they continued to walk. Byleth broke the stare first, eyes darting somewhere past the treeline.

“... _No. I apologize, Sothis. I obviously underestimated you_ ,” he said, level and polite, and Blythe could tell he meant it, too. A beat passed, before Sothis gave a small _hmph._

“ _Well, so long as you know_ ,” she stated, mollified. And without another word, she disappeared once more.

There was not much more to say, after that. They walked in silence, surrounded by the soft chatter of their exhausted students as they made their way back to Garreg Mach In short order Byleth nodded his goodbye and returned to his moping house leader, Edelgard taking her place as they spoke of light-hearted things. There would be time for debriefs and analysis after the feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting chapter to write. We'd been hemming and hawwing over the Divine Pulse situation from t he start, so it's good to get that out of the way.
> 
> Well, next there's a feast. We're starting to wade into the Proper Plot, so be ready! Shangheists has one cogent statement to offer meanwhile: "get rekt, Byleth."


	8. Feast and Frolick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth enjoys the feast, as best he can. So does Blythe, with unforeseen consequences. They are both very tired by the end of it.

Byleth didn’t really care for crowds, if he was being honest, which was always. How very fortunate it was that he was here, then, in the dining hall with all the students, the faculty, and a few knights as well as all of the cacophony that came with them and their dinner. It was deafening and gave him the distinct impression that he just might drown amid clattering dishes and interminable smalltalk.

Well, at least the wine that he was presumably old enough to drink, thanks dad, would help dial it down to a din. He took a sip from his goblet, savoring the tart taste.

He wasn’t sure how Blythe was able to put up with any of this. Though, as she sat with all her Eagles around her, joyful as they were in their victory, he supposed there was at least one bright side to not coming out on top.

She was strung tight as a bow, that terrible fake smile of hers on full display. He'd say he felt bad, but a green-haired time ghost stole what should have been his win, so she could deal with her heavy crown.

He swirled his wine, satisfied that he had met pettiness with pettiness. With this, the battle lines could be stricken and things could return to normal.

He turned longingly over to his Lions. Dimitri still seemed so down, but Manuela and a man he hadn’t met, Hanneman, insisted he sit at the Professor’s table for at least a while and share a drink.

The two of them had clearly already had a few glasses, Manuela especially was properly drunk after only an hour and some of feasting, and from the amount of empty drinkware, he was almost impressed.

“Professor, there you are!” she gushed cheerily, waving her flagon about. “I was buh-beginning to wonder where you’d gone! Well played today!” she said cheerily, taking a hearty swig of her drink.

Uncomfortable, Byleth nodded. Professor Hanneman leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Don’t mind her professor, she’s harmless. She just gets like this at big events,” he said, gently pulling Manuela back into her seat.

Ah, so he was the responsible one. He hadn’t known about Manuela’s fondness for drink, he noted as he sat awkwardly and sipped at his wine.

“But Professor, I am curious about something about you. You’re Jeralt’s son, correct?” inquired Hanneman, drinking at a much more sedate pace than his companion.

He nodded, offering no further clarification. It was hard enough standing in all this noise, never mind adding to it.

“Well, as I understand it, your father is a bearer of the Crest of Seiros, a fairly uncommon crest at that. I was wondering, would you mind terribly if I asked to perform a few tests on you?” he asked, eyes glinting simply at the chance to speak of his life’s work.

But with one word, Hanneman now had his interest in truth. “Tests?”

“Nothing invasive, I assure you! You see, I have a Crest analyzer in my office, and we would only need to go upstairs and you wave your hand before it to see if you bear a crest as well! Considering your father, I consider it a good possibility!” he confirmed cheerily.

Frankly, Byleth had no idea what he was talking about. Crests, for how important people seemed to think they were, were never a matter worth discussing for a mercenary, and so he had never bothered to look into the subject.

But being away from all this noise, even for a bit, sounded heavenly about now.

“Can we do it now?” he asked, unblinking gaze locking on Hanneman’s, monocle nearly popping off with the way his eyes boggled at the unusual request.

“Wh-why, certainly! A spot of fresh air would do us some good, too!” he agreed amicably, standing from the table. Byleth followed him as they left the table, far away from Dimitri’s sad puppy eyes. Crestfallen, even.

It was a brisk walk, still warm, but he felt the crisp promise of cold on the wind. He could feel it coming, as certain as the sun rose and fell.

It was a short walk up into the professor’s quarters and to his office; he was… Byleth wasn’t sure if it was regrettably or otherwise, but he was beginning to grow accustomed to this floor. Though, mercifully, there would not be a stressful meeting with a hardly-human archbishop this time at least.

“Well, welcome to my abode,” said Hanneman awkwardly, moving to fetch a blank sheet of paper and some charcoal. 

“Now, you see that orb in front of you?” he said gesturing to the purple half-sphere in front of him, nestled into some sort of container. “Just put your hand on top of it, and keep still. It won’t hurt at all,” he assured, readying his charcoal.

The air above Byleth’s hand sparked and fizzled as he placed it on the device, a design beginning to trace itself in front of his eyes, forming a sigil, and Byleth found he couldn’t help but ogle at the sight.

What was he seeing?

“My word..!” breathed Hanneman, charcoal flying as he scribbled furiously, taking down the Crest’s shape as it floated before him, leaving Byleth to stand awkwardly as he muttered to himself frantically.

“...Alright, that will do, Professor,” finished Hanneman, staring down at his drawing as he stood back from the device.

“I can hardly believe it. Not only do you have a Crest, but one I do not know! Me! Oh, Professor, you’ve given me a lovely gift tonight!” said Hanneman cheerily, spring in his step.

“Oh, how wonderful that we have all the more reason to celebrate! I do not have an answer for you as to your Crest’s designation but rest assured I shall! And if I don’t, then you will go down in history!” continued Hanneman as he ushered Byleth back to the party, eagerly discussing the possibilities. He understood every third word, but from what he grasped he should know if his crest ever existed before the weekend was out, because he supposed Hanneman's idea of soothing and restful activities was crest research.

When they stepped in, the Blue Lions cheered upon his entry. “Barkeep! A glass of your finest for our mysterious Crest-bearer!” cheered Hanneman, patting his shoulder and running to fetch Byleth’s promised drink as he himself awkwardly made his way to the Lions table, all eagerly chattering as he approached.

“Really, Professor? You have a Crest too?” gasped Annette, eyes wide with disbelief receiving a half-shrug in return.

“It seems so, according to Hanneman,” he answered, frankly unsure of what the fuss was about.

“Well, Professor Hanneman is one of the most well-respected scholars in the world on the subject of Crests, so if he says so, it must be true,” confirmed Dimitri thoughtfully.

“Hey, congrats Teach! That makes you Fódlan’s most eligible bachelor! Next step is organizing the ball for your coming out into society,” cackled Sylvain, taking a slug of his beer. Byleth narrowed his eyes.

“You know, that might just be your last beer tonight, Sylvain,” he said bluntly before turning to Felix. “If you can keep him sober for the rest of the evening, I’ll meet you at the training grounds at first light,” he offered, eyes locked on his, amber crinkling into what passed as a smile.

“I get a spar with the Professor _and_ I get to stop Sylvain from making an ass of himself? You’re too kind…” he teased, staring at Sylvain wolfishly, who offered a sheepish smile in turn, taking another sip of his stein.

“Ha ha, thanks Teach, rubbing salt into an open wound, what a gentleman. Did you even see how your sister just trounced me? I need to drown my pain!” said Sylvain, bringing a hand to his chest in an obvious attempt at trying to play the pity card.

“Yes, I did, especially right up to when she ran up lance to put a bootstamp on your jaw when you were supposed to be defending Mercedes. You and defensive drills will be getting very acquainted with one another this week,” he said, a few of the other Lions stifling snickers from behind hands or polite sips.

“That goes for all of you, too,” Byleth continued, silence falling over the pride. “There was a lot we could improve upon. Mercedes, you hesitate before casting offensive spells; remember that a well-aimed fireball can prevent just as much harm as a healing spell.”

“I’ll take it to heart, Professor,” she said softly, but he didn’t miss the way her brow furrowed ever so slightly. She almost matched Dimitri across from her in transparent self-critical disappointment.

Byleth sighed. None of them had come to the dining hall for a lecture better-suited for study hours, and he had already learned that effective feedback would need just as much praise as critique.

“...But there was also a lot we did well,” he said, his mollified voice earning him looks of cautious optimism from each of the lions. They reminded him of chastised children, though he supposed they still were. They deserved the win, even if it hadn’t come for them, so he could at least give them this.

“Ashe,” he started, making the boy’s eyebrows shoot up, “Your quick spotting allowed the entire team to respond to an ambush before it developed fully, even though it cost you an early exit. Well done.”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything special. I was just doing my part,” Ashe said, his humble words bracketed by a blush that dusted his cheeks that only deepened with reassuring smiles from Ingrid and Dedue next to him.

“Annette,” Byleth said, moving on. “Had you not deflected Professor Manuela’s spell when you did, we would not have had the stamina necessary to take her down in the push. Great job.”

“Aw, gee, Professor,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “I can only hope I cast a better spell next time so that she doesn’t follow up with another Silence.”

“An opening for sure, but you’re on the right path,” he quipped, turning his attention to the next student.

“Dimitri.”

The prince had not been expecting Byleth to call upon him, as evident in how his eyes shot up from where they had been boring holes into his plate. They could have been placid lochs for how the eagerness in them rippled like a stone had been tossed in. He swallowed, visibly steeling himself. “...Yes, Professor?”

“Not only did you manage to juggle two opponents at once, but when things started to look bleak, you pressed on. You looked upon an impossible situation, stared defeat in the face — stared my sister in the face — and pressed on despite it all. You didn’t compromise your honor just because you saw the difference in skill; you didn’t hand them the victory, you made them work for it. It is my hope that you carry this with you because perseverance is the sign of any great leader. I’m proud of you.”

For a beat, there was silence, and Byleth started to worry that he’d said the wrong thing for how Dimitri’s eyes shimmered. Then, he opened his mouth, got as far as “Professor, I—,” and shattered the stein he was holding.

He sighed as eyes from around the room fell onto their table, Felix making some snide comment or other about a boar. “Were it that I could live up to your standards.”

“You don’t have to live up to anyone’s standards except your own, Dimitri,” Byleth said, squeezing him in the shoulder as he stood up. “It was merely a stein, they can be replaced, so don’t beat yourself up over breaking one. Frankly I'm more impressed you managed such a thing at all. You are very strong.” he soothed with what passed for him as a smile, eyes crinkling gently.

“Yeah, that would leave one hell of a bruise,” Sylvain joked, making Byleth give a sigh of his own as he walked away. What was in his own glass wasn’t strong enough, but whatever was in his father’s that allowed him to endure Alois evidently was, and he wanted it. However, that would mean stepping into the knight’s proximity, and he wasn’t sure that level of noise was something he could manage.

Mercifully, this was when Hanneman returned with a fresh goblet of what he said was vermouth; he raved cheerily that it was a delightful strongwine from Faerghus that wasn't known for wine, wonderful either to sip or mix with stronger drinks, and, with a surreptitious hand to his face, likely the only drink you'd need that night unless you wished to make a fool of yourself.

Oh, good. That sounded like what he wanted. He eagerly took a sip. Hmm. Aromatic, and just a bit sweet. It certainly didn't taste as strong as his father's flask, but he doubted many things could match it.

Intellectually, he was aware he was not being a very good guest or chaperone to his Lions, disappearing twice in one night, wandering around with a drink in hand but he couldn’t deny that he needed it.

He breathed in the night air, looking out at the darkened grounds, walking blindly into the gardens to clear his head.

Whenever there had been parties or celebrations with Jeralt’s Mercenaries, he and Blythe would both hide away after stealing a plate of food and that was that. She’d snuggle up to him, nuzzling in his lap, all but purring as she dozed and he read whatever book had caught his fancy at that time, using her head to prop up the book if she snored.

That was what a celebration was to him, really. He and Blythe, left alone and at peace while everyone was elsewhere. Dealing with drunken coworkers and students, soothing his house leader’s hurt feelings, it was all… very exhausting, on top of the sheer cacophonous noise of it all. He would have much preferred an understated even with only his lions, perhaps, and he could not help but feel Blythe would feel even more strongly than him on t he matter.

This knowledge made it so that when he heard his sister letting out shaky, gasping sobs somewhere nearby, he was not surprised, per se, but no less alarmed. He quickly moved to find her, turning a corner to see her pressed against a hedge wall, hands at her face as Edelgard attempted to shush her soothingly.

“It-it’s okay, Professor, we’re away from it all now, it’s okay, I’m, um, I’m here, I’m the only one here…” she babbled, hands fluttering nervously around her, gently patting her shoulder or her arm then thinking better of it, clearly out of her element. He put his drink down on the floor, stepping forward.

His heart went out to her, the alarm in her eyes was one of the most honest emotions he’d ever seen from the customarily distant Emperor-to-be. He announced his presence with a soft cough.

“Blythe,” he called gently, stepping closer to her. Her head whipped towards his, eyes wide but dry, skin sallow. Edelgard did much the same, though her eyes narrowed distrustfully. Byleth nodded to her.

“It’s okay. This isn’t the first time this has happened,” he soothed, stepping forward and offering Blythe his hand. She took it immediately in a vice-grip, pulling him closer and latching herself onto his arm as if to maximize contact.

He took her into a gentle hug, hand rubbing soothing circles into her back. “It’s alright, Blythe,” he said softly.

“It’s just us and Edelgard. You like Edelgard, don’t you?” he asked, in a tone that bordered on babying. She nodded vigorously from her place against his chest. He turned to look at Edelgard, eyes cold and searching.

“And you like my sister, do you not, Miss Edelgard?” he asked, probing. Clutching nervously at her cravat, she nodded.

“Then I will offer you a word of advice,” he continued, caressing the back of her head and running his hand through the silky darkness that was her hair.

“My sister is very tactile,” he explained gently, beckoning Edelgard closer. “She is well-soothed by being held. And while she is the one more skilled at social maneuvering between the two of us, crowds are often difficult for her. I imagine this was all just too much, being the center of attention.” he stared off into space, face unreadable. "We never enjoyed parties, either of us. We would run and hide, just the two of us until it was ofer," he admitted softly.

Nervously, she did as he signaled, standing next to them. He took one of Blythe’s hands clutched against him and delicately made her release her grip, then holding it out towards Edelgard. She stared at it as if it was a wild animal baring its teeth, eyes wide and scared.

“Go on, then, hold her hand,” he ordered. Edelgard did so in a lightning move, taking her hand and holding it in both of hers nervously, eyes darting as if she expected to have the hand ripped from her at any moment. He nodded. “Good. See, Blythe? It’s just us and Edelgard. Everything is fine,” he soothed, scratching through her hair and rubbing at the back of her neck.

“I apologize, Edelgard. I must be clear that this is not common for her,” he said, almost conversational.

Edelgard shook her head. “No, I understand. Some people have difficulties with social situations, like Bernadetta. I’m sorry to say she didn’t even attend our own victory feast,” she replied, gently stroking Blythe’s hand.

“She’s embarrassed, probably,” piped up Blythe from Byleth’s chest quietly. “I didn’t see her in the final fight; I think she lost her nerve when we had to sprint through the killing field, and stayed on the other side. She’s probably ashamed,” she stated, seeming to have returned to herself. She still held onto Byleth and Edelgard tightly.

“She did well, though. Edelgard, she may not be soothed by my words as much as yours; could you tell her that bravery is a skill like any other, to be honed?” she asked, turning to stare into Edelgard’s lavender eyes, her own catching the moonlight and glinting strangely.

“I — of course, Professor. I will do as you’ve asked,” she promised, taking a bold step and taking more of Blythe’s arm into her grasp, pressing forearms. Distantly, Byleth thought they must have made quite a strange sight, a couple holding each other, a third person holding onto one’s hand.

Well, it’s not like they were normal by any definition, two mercenaries and a crown princess.

Slowly, Blythe unlatched herself from around Byleth, staring him down with soft eyes, nodding her thanks. “Thank you, brother. You helped a lot,” she said, quietly but sincerely. He knew there had been a bit of bad blood between them after the battle, but he was glad to see that they were on the same page of wanting things back to normal.

Disengaging from Byleth entirely, she turned to Edelgard, clasping both hands around hers. “And to you especially, Edelgard. I’m sorry to have ruined things. You were also a great help,” she offered, clearly a bit embarrassed. So was Edelgard, if the way a light blush covered her cheeks was any indication.

“Think nothing of it, my teacher. We all have our challenges. I am only glad I could help,” she said, staring intensely at their joined hands. 

Unbidden, Blythe slid forward, wrapping her arms around Edelgard who stiffened at the unexpected touch. Blythe whispered something he couldn’t make out into Edelgard’s ear, having her blush darken quite a few shades. He quirked an eyebrow.

He strolled back to where he had placed his drink, picking it up and taking another sip before opting to down the rest of it in its entirety. This was becoming a very odd evening, and he did not want to deal with it. Better to let it get lost to the fog while his sister did… whatever she did with her house leader. It wasn’t his business.

Best he took his exit when he could, letting his feet carry him past where he would hear.

Rather comfortably, he walked along, careful not to stumble even if he was ...fairly drunk, if he was honest with himself. Though one of the upsides to his infamous coldness of expression was that most had great difficulty reading if he had anything to drink, so no one would be any the wiser provided he kept his mouth shut.

From what he saw, the festivities were finally starting to wind down, students walking arm in arm to their dorms in good spirits. The sight of Hanneman dragging Manuela bodily on his back as she snored was an amusing display even Byleth had to admit had him chuckling quietly to himself.

It was an interesting sight, seeing all of the students outside of the classroom or the battlefield. He found himself a seat at a small table, far away from where he'd found Blythe in the gardens, staring up at the sky. He wondered what it would have been like, being a student like those children, instead of killing strangers. Would he have become a better person?

Bah. He hated when he got maudlin, it always made for a lousy evening. He let out a cleansing breath, breathing in the night air and staring up at the stars until a noise roused him from his stupor.

Claude sat across from him, ever-present smile aimed straight at him. "Nice night for a stroll, eh Teach?" he offered, eyes uncommonly warm. Had he been drinking too? Probably, why wouldn't he? He came in second, and the Lions had been drinking for less reason than that.

Byleth made sure his mask was in place as he responded: "I suppose. What brings you here, Claude?"

"Oh, you know, just catching up. It was a big day. Did your sister say how I got one over on her?" he said with an uncharacteristic giggle, ending in a soft snort. "Oh, got her good! Free lessons and free tea all year!"

Byleth couldn't help but quirk a brow. "...You've got my attention. How did you manage to get that out of her? She won," he said, focused on the boy in front of him, this boy, with the shining eyes, who snorted when he laughed had got one up on his sister. He really was a power underneath his veneer of casualness.

"Weeeell, as you know, the Deer trapped the forest,” Claude said, politely sparing him the embarrassment of mentioning the tripwire that had snagged him and ripped a sizable tear in what could have been his leg if he hadn’t worn a guard. “It was just me and Marianne, our healer left, and it was her and Petra and, uh, Dorothea and Linhardt..." He counted them all off on his fingers, and Byleth noted he knew all of their names, too. He truly had a talent with people. 

"Obviously we were dead to rights, but we just kept setting off traps and pulling back, dragging them through the forest until she just calls out 'Claude, Claude, I'm sick of this, just yield!' I knew no one could put up with that much annoyance without getting a little sick of it, so I named my price, and she slammed it on the counter!" This pronouncement was punctuated by a silly-sounding cackle, leaning on the table as he did.

"Hm. Well played, Lord Riegan," he offered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "My sister’s patience doesn’t have the stamina for such things, though I imagine you'd have done the same whether you knew that or not," he teased gently. 

"Whoa, hey, Lord Riegan's my granddad, I'm still just his punk grandson, at least for now," he countered, running a hand through his hair in what, in his drunken haze, seemed to Byleth to be a self-conscious move.

"I don't think you're a punk, Claude," he offered, uncommonly gentle. "You're a good house leader, and a nice person."

"Pff. Flattery will get you everywhere..." he mumbled, continuing to scratch at his hair and looking off to the side, cheeks tinged from what he assumed was the drink.

"No, I mean it!" he challenged, giving the table they sat at a gentle strike with his fist. "You have been nothing but kind to my sister and I, even after we had not chosen your house to lead. You are kind, and I value that."

“I dunno about all that,” Claude said as he tried to wave him off, but he pressed on anyway.

"You even came to make me feel better for the loss after that green-haired imp stole the win from me..." he murmured grumpily, staring back up at the sky. He only realized after the fact that he was rambling, but the drink was something the Byleth of tomorrow could curse.

“Wait—what?” asked Claude, face screwed into a mask of confused concentration.

"Take it from a Professor, Claude, don't work with ghosts. They play favorites," he answered, giving a drunken chortle of his own. "Stupid kid... she got me good."

Claude gave a loud “Ha!” of amusement, trying and failing to reach across the table and pat Byleth's shoulder, only managing to wave his arm uselessly a few inches from Byleth's chest. “Teach has a sense of humor! You just need to get a couple drinks in him! Aw, this is great!”

"Claude, please..." he murmured, blush tingeing his cheeks. From the drink, of course.

"I'm just messing with you, Teach! You're so easy," he said, that rakish smile of his making his chest behave strangely. 

"...Yes, I suppose I would be, wouldn't I," he murmured, embarrassed, which just made Claude laugh harder and was distinctly not helping.

"Easy Byleth, village bicycle! — By-cycle… There’s a pun in there, whatever — Bet the villagers loved you whenever you went to the bar after a contract!" he teased, a trifle cruelly.

"I... that is... that's personal, Claude," he said coldly, looking away.

This seemed to cow the boy sufficiently, as he mastered himself, face taking on a more serious posture.

"Of course, Teach. Sorry, that was rude of me," he admitted shamefacedly, again running a hand through his hair. "Guess I had a bit too much.”

A beat of restless silence passed between them, both of them risking uneasy glances at the other before, finally, Claude clapped his hands on his lap.

“...Welp, I have a rule, stick a foot in your mouth it's usually smart to make an exit before you stick the other one in and fall over," he said, hand at his head, standing up from his seat.

"I'm gonna go sleep this off. You do the same, ok Teach?" he said with what seemed like genuine concern.

Byleth nodded, face unreadable. "Of course, Claude. Rest well. Have some water before you sleep," he chided gently.

This forced a toothy smile out of the boy, still scratching at the back of his head. "Sure thing, Teach. See you 'round!" he said cheerily, giving him a backwards wave as he walked off.

And so, Byleth was alone once more, staring out at the darkness around him. It was well and truly night now, not simply dusk. He should probably heed Claude's advice and get some rest. He sighed, standing from his seat in the garden, making his way onto the path back to the students' dorms.

Not a soul in sight. Peaceful.

He had forgotten how nice it was to wander in the night. Nothing to keep him company but the wind's whispers and his own thoughts, ale-addled as they were. He was almost disappointed when he made it to their door, which Blythe had kindly left unlocked. He slid inside, deftly locking the door behind him with a soft click.

"Feeling better, Blythe?” he asked conversationally.

" _I kissed her._ "

"That's nice—what?" he turned from hanging his cloak to ogle at her.

" _It-it-it—it just happened!_ " she objected piteously. When he looked her over, she was quite a mess with her hair out of sorts and still wearing her heels. It seemed she was taking this rather seriously.

Byleth sighed. He could already feel the headache coming and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "...Fine. Get us some water, and we can sort this out a bit," he groaned, shooing her off to go to the well and fill their pitcher, which his beloved sister did, walking off in a haze with pitcher in hand. In the meantime he finished hanging his clothes and changing into his sleepwear.

So she had found someone, eh? Well, what's the worst that could happen? Having the Emperor of Adrestia as a bitter ex? He supposed stepping into the Empire at that point would be out of the question. Despite himself he couldn't help but give a hysterical little laugh to himself in the empty room.

Well, what he thought had been an empty room.

“ _Relax. She's blowing it out of proportion, it was actually very sweet. She wanted it more than her, even,_ ” volunteered the green-haired plague, floating supine in front of him suddenly in a way that was becoming less and less unanticipated in a way that he felt a violation of privacy shouldn’t. Heavens forbid he was beginning to enjoy her company.

He was a breath away from snapping at her before he caught himself. No, no… the gremlin with time powers should be respected even if she wore on his nerves at times.

He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees as he sat on the bed. “ _...And how do you weigh in on the matter, Sothis?_ ” he asked, dreading the answer.

Sothis gave a casual shrug, seemingly disinterested. “ _That she shouldn't overcomplicate things. It was a kiss. If something comes of it, fine, if not, it hardly matters. Humans are so hung up on propriety. I'm simply glad she had the courage to do what she knew they both wanted._ ”

...Huh. Did the gremlin actually give cogent relationship advice?

Blythe chose then to step in, clay pitcher sloshing merrily as she brought it to her desk, filling her cup and handing it to Byleth, who took it gratefully.

“ _Hello, Sothis,_ ” said Blythe, uncharacteristically muted.

“ _Hello, dear. Your brother and I were talking about your problem,_ ” stated Sothis bluntly, as seemed to be her way. 

Byleth nodded before taking a long gulp of water. “ _I don’t think there is a problem. You kissed her, so what? You're presumably near the same age…_ ” he led, inviting Blythe to step in.

“ _I— well, she was talking about some strange word I'd never heard, propriety, how it was uncouth for a teacher and a student to do such things, and then — then she kissed me back…_ ” she said, her raving taking a decrescendo into a muttering blush, nervously poking her fingertips together in a habit she hadn't seen fit to use since she had been a child.

“ _Oh, honestly, dear, listen to yourself. 'Oh no, propriety, blargh!' You said it yourself, she paid lip service and then promptly ignored it! It's not an issue,_ ” piped up Sothis, taking the words out of Byleth's mouth.

It dawned on Byleth that perhaps he'd made his judgments relating to Sothis a bit rashly. She was speaking good sense.

“ _I have to concur, Blythe. It sounds to me like she was interested, consequences be damned. Torturing yourself with what-ifs is pointless. You could do a lot worse,_ " he soothed, standing to pour Blythe a glass of her own. She took it gratefully.

“ _Either nothing happens and this all blows over, or something happens and you deal with it. Isn't that how you prefer things anyway? After all, in worrying, you suffer twice,_ " he teased gently, running a knuckle across her cheek, a gentle smile on his face. She looked up at him and offered a gentle smile before turning away, a slight blush coloring her face.

“ _You're right, brother, as always. I'm just... nervous. Edelgard is... nice. I like her. I don't want things to sour,_ ” she said honestly, clasping the arm not holding her drink to her shoulder.

“ _All that happens is what will happen. If it doesn’t last, then it’s not meant to be. The contract is only for a year, after all,_ ” he reminded gently.

“ _...Yeah, you're right. She's... probably just looking for a—a fling, before she becomes Emperor, or something…_ ” she replied morosely.

“ _Oh, Blythe, none of that! I saw you two, you know she has feelings for you. I won't have you deluding yourself. You're a good person, and she sees that!_ ” objected Sothis heatedly. Wow, she was doing great beating him to the punch on his points. Was — was she doing time magic to steal his points? No, no, that way lay madness, and he was too drunk for all this.

" _What she said,_ " he offered sleepily, finishing his glass of water. " _Look, just relax and give it a good night's rest. Talk it out with her. We’ll discuss the big picture later. I'm frankly exhausted and I'd like to go to sleep and I think you do too._ " He stated definitively, trying, repeatedly, to get onto his bunk while also holding his glass, and making a fool of himself in the doing. Sothis and Blythe stared at him wordlessly as he attempted to scale his bunk, eventually managing it before falling face-first into his pillow.

All he'd done was close his eyes but he instantly felt better. " _Talk to the gremlin if you insist on discussing this further, she seems to have good advice on the matter,_ " he spoke through his pillow, gesturing vaguely at nothing.

" _Rude! I'm no gremlin! But I do know a thing or two about such things,_ " she answered haughtily with a sniff. 

“ _Sorry,_ ” he mumbled through his pillow.

A mock battle, a feast, and his sister had maybe gotten a girlfriend. All told, he felt confident stating that by anyone's metric it had been a long day, and did not feel an ounce of guilt for falling headfirst into sleep's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an odd one to write; we're starting to fall into actual plotting and the proper mainline story missions, so like it or not the twins need to buckle up. Heaven forbid, we have to actually prepare _timelines,_ actually put down stuff on paper! Woe betide us.
> 
> Look, bicycles probably don't exist in Fodlan. I know that, you know that. But there must be puns for the pun god. (The pun god is Shang)


	9. Sunny Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spot of tea while the twins catch up with their father; the twins must go to Zanado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a discord! It's nothing big, but if you'd like to come and chat with us, about Viridian Stars or whatever else, you can find us here: https://discord.gg/8tW9kfY

Blythe wasn’t entirely certain where Byleth had found the tea set, but she wasn’t in the mood to question it.  
  
“So how are we boiling this water?” asked Blythe, altogether uninterested with the proceedings.  
  
Byleth turned to look at her, unimpressed. “You’re a fire mage, I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” he answered dismissively, carefully portioning the Seiros mix he’d brought with him. Well, at least they still agreed it was the best mix. Smoky and understated, its taste lingered for hours if you let it.

She’d always liked the taste of smoke.

After a time of watching Byleth make little pointless alterations to how the tea cups were set and making sure the biscuits were placed just so, her mind came to a lull, and she took to playing games lighting her fingertips on fire and making rude gestures behind his back. And eventually, an eternity later when the kettle began to boil, he seemed satisfied.

It was a nice day, all told, with the sun shining, the grass green, and the gardens well-manicured as ever. Their little metal table was looking downright inviting with its tray of snacks and the kettle and tea cups.

Blythe had to admit, she was more than a little curious to try the biscuits. Her brother had apparently asked two of his students to bake them, and with her interest piqued, nothing short of taking a bite would satisfy it or her appetite. The both of them rarely had chances to indulge in proper sweets and treats and it was taking more self-control than she wanted to admit to stop from flat-out stealing one.

But he'd know, anyway. He’d set them up _just_ so, as Byleth preferred everything. She gave a rueful smile at the thought. Her brother... such a silly man.

They were adults, now, probably. There had never been birthdays for them, just arbitrary presents, sometime in the autumn. Sometimes. Jeralt was unreliable that way.

She sat down in her seat, watching Byleth putter around, pausing only to brush his fringe out of his eyes. Despite it all, he seemed... he seemed well. He was flourishing here. His students seemed to like him, and he seemed to like the work. She was happy for him. Even if she didn't understand it, she felt better here too.

Strangest of all, _she_ was happy here. She had been ready to bolt at the first chance she had, but it had taken so little for her to fall into the routine, to be spellbound by the children she taught.

It was.. strange. Her children — because they were not just her students — cared for her, and she cared for them. It had happened so quickly and yet so invisibly. She cared for them, and she knew Byleth cared for his, too. A week at this monastery, and her world had changed so much as to be unrecognizable to her.

She'd done more paperwork for their sake than she'd ever done, hand cramping and head aching as she scribbled in the Eagles’ classroom. She needed to keep them safe, teach them what she knew, because if they were hurt, she could not forgive herself.

These were not mercenaries that understood the stakes, these were foolish children, indoctrinated into thinking battle was noble with no grasp of the horror inherent. They awoke something in her she could only describe as parental. They needed her, and she would be there no matter what it took. Her teeth hurt to think of them in danger, and if needed, she would remove any threats that stood to hurt them herself, with brutal efficiency.

She slumped into her chair, cradling her head.

Stars, she had it bad. She didn't know what was happening to her. She was... _feeling_ things. Like she never had, like she'd only felt with Byleth. 

She was roused from her thoughts only by the clacking of what she knew were her father's greaves.

“Mornin’, squirts,” he called. She looked up, seeing her father looking the same as he had as long as she could remember strutting confidently in his armor, with noisy Alois trailing behind him with a cheery grin.

“Hullo, professors!” Alois added cheerily with an enthusiastic wave. Hah, now Byleth was frantically reaching under the table to grab the spare cup and plate. Best-laid plans, brother.

Blythe gave a sedate wave, watching as they approached. Alois sat down politely, armor clanking on the metal lawn chair while Jeralt, in his way, pulled his chair back and collapsed into it in a cacophonous clatter.

“Really, father? Full plate in the monastery? For both of you?” teased Blythe gently. Jeralt shrugged helplessly.

“Always gotta be ready to move out, which means I've gotta sweat my ass off like it or not,” he pronounced in annoyance as Byleth took his own seat soundlessly between Blythe and Jeralt and cleared his throat purposefully.

“Hello, father. I see you've brought a guest. The tea is still a little hot, but in the meantime, help yourself to the treats some of my students made," he stated like a perfect gentleman, pulling the diffuser out of the pot by its chain.

“Oooh! Your students can cook?” asked Alois delightedly, fingers twiddling as he reached forward to grab a piece of shortbread off the tray. 

“Some of them do. Others are more talented with baking,” Byleth said as he stared at the pot intensely as she knew he was counting the seconds for the perfect pot. The only person she'd met who approached the sheer intensity of commitment to those torn up leaves was Ferdinand. She should introduce them, probably.

“Oh, this is delicious!” rhapsodized Alois, crumbs getting into his moustache in record time. “Uch, oh, truly delightful,” he spoke as he chewed, crumbs flying.

“Glad you like it, Alois,” said Blythe, picking up her brother's slack as he fell into his tea-trance. “So how's life been with—” and she stared at her father then, fingers crooked in quotation marks as she continued, “—the legendary Blade Breaker back in your ranks? Having such a skilled soldier must be quite a feather in your order's cap.” Careful to maintain her token neutral face of displeasure, she spared a glance at her father, who she knew would recognize it as annoyance.

“Oh, undoubtedly! Jerry here is a legend and for good reason,” Alois enthused, giving him a decidedly _un_ -gentle pat on the shoulder to emphasize. 

Her face froze as she looked at Alois, earlier anger at her father disappearing instantly. "J—Jerry," she clarified, even Byleth falling out of his trance.

“Jerry,” Byleth echoed, dreamlike disbelief in his voice. “You call him... _Jerry_.”

“Well, sure! We're all friends, Jerry and I go back twenty years after all!” he laughed, grabbing another piece of shortbread cheerily.

Byleth's lips flattened into a perfect line, tea forgotten, _Jerry_ reaching for his flask quite unsubtly. “He calls you Jerry,” he said in a small voice that Blythe knew to be delight that bordered on fiendish.

“Look, can we just…” began Jeralt helplessly, eyes turned towards the heavens that would surely not hear his prayer.

“Jerry, you simply must tell us how you've been enjoying the Knights. We've heard not a peep of the legendary Bladebreaker Jerry's triumphant return to the Knights of Seiros. Won't you share with us, Knight Captain Jerry?” asked Blythe mercilessly, face frozen in a porcelain doll's mask, all half-smile and blank eyes as she stared down their beloved father, known to some as Jerry.

Byleth caught Jerry's hand before he could take a swig, smiling in the same unnatural way as his sister. “Now, now, Jerry, if you insist on partaking, at least use a cup. This is a tea party we’ve thrown for you, Jerry, after all. You wouldn't want to be rude, would you Jerry?” he asked, delighting in his father's obvious discomfort.

Alois, meanwhile, had moved from the shortbread on to the blueberry tarts, lost to the world in what he was describing as a “symphony of flavor.”

Jerry bit back a vicious curse, pouring the amber-unto-brown liquid into his cup as Byleth poured the tea for the rest of the group.

Byleth picked up his cup once he finished, staring at their beloved father, Jerry the Bladebreaker. “Now that you have your magic potion, Jerry, how are you doing? What has the Archbishop put you up to, I wonder, that you’ve been too busy to see us, Jerry?” he asked, falling back into relative normalcy.

Jeralt stared at his son, thunderous frown on his face reflecting back on curated, unblinking politesse as he downed his teacup, already fairly dwarfed in his hands as he poured another helping.

“S'fine. Got me doing drills, assessing combat capabilities, gauging threats of known quantities. Same shit, different boss,” he said grumpily, sipping at his second cup much more politely. “Not even any action, yet. How about you, pipsqueak? How’re the kids? Morons?”

“Mine less than his at least,” volunteered Blythe cheekily. “We won the mock battle a few days ago.”

“Yeah?” urged Jeralt, eyes glinting.

“He let himself and his ace get surrounded and then I tore up his backline while they tried to get out,” she explained in what she considered a description which was not _terribly_ insulting.

Jeralt gave a flat “ha” as he sipped at his “tea.”

“Rookie mistake, kid. How'd it happen?” he asked curiously.

Byleth bit his tongue, looking at Blythe just a bit vengefully. She shrugged, nonplussed. He was going to want to know either way.

“My ace was fighting two-on-one and had to push them on the defensive or get overrun. I left him alone too long clearing out the other front and I was too late to pull him back before she sprung the trap and we both got caught,” he said, a certain poutiness to his words that was invisible to anyone who wasn't an Eisner.

Jeralt smirked. “Well, at least it wasn't for a stupid reason,” he offered, placating him with a pat on the shoulder. He turned to Blythe then. “Good job, kid. Both of you, really. Important part's that an Eisner took the win,” he said wolfishly, grinning.

“But that didn't answer my question. Your kids any good?” he asked, finishing his cup and grabbing a piece of shortbread himself before Alois depopulated the entire tray.

“Hey, Alois, easy on the sweets or I'm gonna have you running laps,” Jeralt warned, quite transparently to ensure there would be treats for everyone else, and then with a sigh added, “Geez, it’s like you’ve eaten at least seven…”

Alois blushed, wiping the crumbs from his moustache. “S-sorry, sir.”

Jeralt turned back, staring them down. “Blythe, your kids won, tell me about 'em.”

Blythe took that moment to grab one of the blueberry tarts, taking a bite as she thought of her answer. Alois, for his... _passion_ , was correct; it was a delicious tart.

“This is good, Byleth. Give the chef my compliments. I'll train whoever made these tarts for more of them,” she said only half joking, eyes crinkling gently for her brother who was still a bit grumpy, but gave a pouty nod in the affirmative.

“They're good kids,” she said, uncommonly gently. “Edelgard is the house leader. She is... very driven. She's proper, but she's... she's sweet, underneath it all. She thinks she needs to be perfect because she's going to be emperor, but she's very passionate,” she began dreamily, staring off into space and sipping at her tea. 

There was so much she wanted to say, but couldn’t. How her smile made something in her chest writhe, how… how she made her feel like she was falling, how she’d never felt like this about anyone, even Byleth. How she spoke about a better world, and how… maybe… maybe she could find a purpose with her, something that made her feel like she was doing something good with her sword. Not just killing because she was told.

“Out of them all, Caspar, Ferdinand and Petra are all talented in melee. Edelgard, too,” she continued, placing her tea cup down onto the saucer with a small clink. “Caspar is very sweet, excitable, like a puppy. He always wants to fight and protect people, and he’s strong with an axe. Ferdinand is... he's nice. He's a lancer, who loves honor and getting under Edelgard's skin. But he cares about all of them, like a big brother. Petra is fast, and strong. And kind. Our only swordsman, aside from Dorothea. She's from Brigid, and she is a very calming influence.” she sighed, thinking of how her little… her class, how her class was growing closer, how Petra took care of Bernadetta when she was scared.

Jeralt gave a good natured _hrmph_ of amusement. “Lot of sweeties, huh? Figures,” he teased, chin on his fist as he watched her with an unreadable look on his face.

“Our ranged troops are surprisingly numerous. Dorothea is one of our rising stars. A lightning mage who's good with a sword. She's a commoner, so she's probably going to enlist, and if her commanding officer knows what's good for them they'll give her a Levin sword. She sang in something called an opera. Then there's Hubert, the dark mage. He plays at being scary, and he knows how to back it up, but in truth he's just protective of Edelgard, and I think the other Eagles are getting to him too, softening his edges. He just doesn’t know how to be nice,” the _like me_ went unsaid. It had taken longer than she’d like to admit for her and her brother to understand how to be kind and polite.

She stared up at the sky, her memories of her childhood with Byleth blurring with the new memories she and her children were making. It was like they had been an absence she never knew she’d had, for how perfectly they seemed to fit into her heart.

They were hers, in a way Byleth had never been, could never be. She needed to protect them, needed something to protect.

Jeralt was strangely silent, just staring at her, not that she could notice.

“Bernadetta is sweet, but... challenging. She's very fearful of combat, so I've no idea why her family sent her here. She's skilled with a bow, though. Steady hands, from embroidery. Then there's Linhardt, the healer." She gave what passed as a grimace for her.

“The most difficult student, by far. The boy is a genius, but he doesn't apply himself. Nothing works, he just stays up all night reading about crests or whatever his interest that day is and sleeps through class, and he volunteered to play healer because he thinks it'd be easiest,” she continued with a soft frown. “...He doesn't understand what he's signing up for.”

She sighed, leaning back and taking a long, slow gulp of her tea, finishing it and reaching to pour herself another cup.

“That's all of them. They all have their skills and failings, but overall they all hold a lot of potential,” she said softly, uncharacteristically muted as she stared into her teacup. “... I like them,” she finished, almost guiltily. Before these children, the only people she cared about were Byleth and Jeralt. As if overnight, her world and the people in it exploded outwards, numbers multiplying wildly. Her family was growing. Despite herself, she felt like she was betraying them, her heart accepting them so readily after so long with just Byleth and Jeralt as her whole world.

“...Sounds like a good group of brats,” Jeralt offered gently. “Glad you seem to like ‘em. Maybe it's... good for you, helping these kids instead of just having me drag you from field to field, killing for coin,” he said, saturnine. He seemed lost in thought, reaching forward to grab a piece of shortbread without thinking and taking a bite. 

“Good shortbread,” he offered thoughtlessly.

A moment of silence hung between them as a quiet breeze passed through the garden, rustling the leaves and swaying the blooms in a way that made something in Blythe’s chest stir. It was something small, lapping at her feet like the ebb and flow of some distant shoreline, and she knew that wherever this was, it was bliss. She took another long sip to still herself lest she be taken under.

“What about you, Byleth?” Jeralt asked, shaking them all out of their daze and rooting them all back around the blooms. “What kind of impression do the Faerghus kids leave on you?”

Byleth seemed to take a moment to think, choosing his words carefully as he swirled his tea. “They’re a genteel bunch, all of them nobles in some regard or other. Very well-spoken, aware of etiquette, regardless of whether or not they abide by it, but they’re all cognizant of the impact they leave,” he mused. “Well, no, for the most part. Sylvain is difficult. If only he stopped philandering around for long enough, he could be a talented cavalier. It would certainly let Ingrid focus on her flying if she didn’t have to worry about his… impropriety.”

“Hm, I’m glad I didn’t have to go through that with either of you,” Jeralt said. “It’s harder to deal with that with one, let alone two. And you’re unlucky enough to be dealing with eight.”

“I suppose. With any luck, it’ll pass,” Byleth said with a sigh, taking another sip of the blend. “It makes me worry about Ashe, though. He’s already one of the best sharpshooter’s I’ve ever seen, but he’s… soft. I sometimes catch him daydreaming, or reading, or stealing glances over at Dedue, who I think could make a decent brawler or war master if he’d step back from Dimitri, his ward’s side for long enough.”

Blythe watched the slight furrow in her brother’s brow formed as he filled his cup once more. He’d clearly been thinking about this more than he’d let on before, but this didn’t surprise her. He was wont to fuss and worry about minutiae, especially on a personal level, and if she’d bonded with her Eagles so quickly and so intensely, then he surely had with his Lions.

“Then there’s Annette, who hyperfixates to the point of being forgetful, and Mercedes who’s endearing, but dismissive of her faults in a way that enables her, and if both of them could step back, their magic would flourish,” Byleth continued. “Not to mention how phenomenal a savant Felix could be if he would listen to reason.”

He clenched his hands before letting them go with a deep exhale. “They have the potential to be incredible.”

Another moment passed where Jeralt brought his flask back out and took a deep swig before pressing him further. “And the prince? The Dimitri kid?”

Then Byleth, in an echo of his father, took a sip from his cup in a way that Blythe could tell was him desperately stalling. The image made her smile. It was endearing to see her brother as flustered as he was, even if it was indiscernible to anyone save for her.

Finally, the porcelain cup returned to rest on its saucer with a delicate clink that despite its low volume reigned over the table. When Byleth opened his mouth to speak, both Blythe and her father’s eyes fell on him, and she knew he could feel it, even if he wouldn’t meet them.

“Dimitri wants to succeed more than the rest of them do. He’s inheriting the throne at a younger age than he should, and he carries the weight of that with him. He shrinks under heavy criticism, but he flourishes with praise, and he tends to err on the more idealistic side of things,” Byleth said at length. “He’ll be a soft-hearted king, but perhaps that’s better for his subjects than a heavy-handed despot.”

“So he’s in the wrong place being in a military academy,” Jeralt offered wryly.

“Oh, no, he could easily lob an opponent off the battlefield without batting an eye,” Byleth said. “It’s a testament to her skill that Blythe didn’t get launched.”

“It’s true,” she opined. “The man’s stronger than an ox. The boy’s, what, eighteen? And he broke my stalemate!” she exclaimed, punctuating it with a wave of her berry tart she’d taken from the tray.

“Seventeen,” corrected Byleth gently from over his teacup.

“My point stands,” she stated smugly, arms crossed and mouth full of tart.

There was another moment of peaceful silence, all of them sitting comfortably and enjoying the breeze and the beautiful day and the good tea and the lovely sweets.

She felt like they were all, together in that moment, savoring a truly special, peaceful moment.

Maybe Byleth wasn’t crazy for loving tea so much. 

Alois leaned over quietly, whispering something in Jeralt’s ears, making him deflate quietly.

“Alright, squirts,” he said, a trifle sadly. “It’s time for me to do more shit I don’t wanna do. You probably have some of the same,” he said, standing and giving his back a good stretch.

“Thanks for taking the time. I love you two blockheads. Don’t forget that, okay? If you need something, just say it,” he said, staring them down seriously, hands at his hips.

The two of them felt a smile flit across their faces, and from the way Jeralt seemed taken aback, if only for a moment, they knew he appreciated the treasure, giving them both one in return.

“Love you, too.”

“We won’t forget… _Jerry_.”

Jeralt reached for his flask, and they let him. “You drive me to this, you brats,” he hissed before taking another swig, stomping off.  
  
Blythe smiled to herself. Father had never been good with sentimentality. She turned to her brother, already stacking cups and plates as Alois trotted off after his captain with a distant “Thank you for having me!”

Alois was a good man, all told. Jeralt could do worse than him for a second-in-command.

“So,” Blythe piped up, clapping her hands. “Rhea wants us.”  
  
Byleth nodded, placing the tea set into a pretty ornamental box, which was making her wonder just where on earth had he gotten that set? She’d never seen it before…  
  
“Very well. Let’s just pass by the room to drop this off,” he bargained. Who was she to deny him? It was _such_ a nice set.

The tea set's box already had a delicate placement on the wall in Byleth's side of the room, but something about the tea set still niggled at her, though not enough to bother exploring the idea. It was just a tea set, what did it matter where she'd seen it? Maybe it was a common style.

When they climbed the steps to Rhea's chambers, it felt like every other time they'd been there: cloying, to a choking degree. The smell of sandalwood did nothing to hide the smell of ash and fire, and she didn't know why she tried or why one would burn incense so counter to one another. 

She looked at them with the unnatural intensity her blank eyes afforded her, mask immovable. “I want to congratulate you once again on your performance in the mock battle a few days ago,” the Archbishop complimented, saccharine in a way that an excess of sweets led to a stomach ache. “I almost felt as though I had lost myself from where I had watched you atop the hill, opera glasses in-hand, of course, in a memory long-forgotten.”

Her eyes grew distant, overcome with a sadness that made them hesitant to name, only to be replaced with a narrow glower that could sear. “It is clear to me now that you should be the ones to clear out Zanado. The bandits who, in their way, helped bring you here are camped there, now making a mockery of the holy canyon with their being there. The mere presence of bandits in such a place is an insult to the Goddess. They are to be purged from the sacred grounds they soil.” 

The way her pronouncement rang seemed to echo through the room and gave her sentence terrible weight.

After it subsided, Byleth, looking as if he was fighting the urge to shiver in the too-hot room, dared to meet her eyes with the familiar pall the two of them wore so well. “Forgive me, but I do have to ask: Why us? Are the Knights not sufficient?”

“Such rabble is worthy of little more than to be fodder,” Rhea said, an effortless dismissal. “Your students are here to learn to make war, are they not? It would be wise to blood them early. Even sending two teachers is simply my way of being cautious.”

Blythe wanted to ask more, to grill the woman, but it felt impossible. She was untouchably far away, able to dismiss any questions effortlessly, but she was so strange — she knew she held deeper knowledge about them than she let on. Flayn, sibling to her advisor, all three alarmingly similar in appearance and spoke their tongue, the same tongue the green ghost who knew time magic spoke. Both Byleth and Blythe had a great many questions regarding the Archbishop, but they both knew that she would not provide them the answers for whatever mysterious reasons she kept. 

So instead, as it always seemed to end, they bowed to their porcelain master, eyes flat and unblinking as they made their oath.

“That your will be done,” they swore and turned on their heels, the only thing going through either of their minds as they pushed open the doors upon their exit being that Archbishop Rhea seemed hardly human.

When they stepped out of her chambers, they took a moment to breathe in the smell of wood varnish and fresh mountain air, allowing the crushing weight of the Archbishop’s presence to lift off of them and drop to the stone.

Or, it would have, if a familiar pair of amber eyes wasn’t waiting for them expectantly. 

“Cyril,” Blythe greeted neutrally, inviting him to say his piece.

“Professors,” he said with what passed for him as a bow. “Lady Rhea has tasked me with preparing the supplies needed to make the trip to the Red Canyon. For one group of students,” he clarified.

The twins both looked at one another expectantly before Byleth broke eye contact and sighed. “A few of the Lions have... already seen real combat, so it would be prudent for the Eagles to have the experience.”

Blythe allowed herself to break her composure a little, her eyebrows arching in surprise. She hadn’t expected Byleth to fold so easily and let her Eagles be the ones to follow. She worried that maybe Byleth was feeding them a false narrative, scared to bring them onto a live battlefield yet. Babying them would be counterproductive, but she did not press him on the matter. She remembered Dimitri and how he'd all but crumbled upon his defeat and their terrified healer who shot wide.

They were not her children. Byleth knew them best, and she had to respect that.

Her brother went to the stables while she went to fetch Edelgard to rouse the Eagles. Class was cancelled, and it was time for action. She could already imagine Caspar's hoot of delight when he heard the news. 

She unlocked the Eagles' room, fetching her notes. Zanado was still some distance away, and she imagined that she and Byleth could give them some good lessons along the way. She reached for her chalk, quickly scribbling a note asking anyone who saw this to meet at the stables with clothes and supplies ready for a day or two. With that done, she went to find Edelgard.

She was not in her room; she knocked, without answer. Even when she called there was no answer. She didn't know Edelgard's haunts beyond her room, as of yet. So, she did the next best thing: she looked for Hubert.

She knocked at his door, and within moments he answered the door, severe in posture and dressed as ever. "Professor," he said, as if addressing an enemy general.

"Hubert. Have you seen Edelgard?" she asked, staring him down nonplussed by his demeanor. He quirked a brow, unimpressed.

"Lady Edelgard would be in her room at this hour. Did you truly come to me first?" he asked, barbed and prickly. She let it wash over her like the pointless posturing it was.

"I checked her room. She's not there," she countered, voice blank and similarly unimpressed. Hubert's eyes widened, briefly looking like an alarmed fish.

"She... she said she wished to sleep in today," he said, betrayed and shocked. Blythe found herself frowning in turn.

"Hm. Look, we've got a mission from the Archbishop. Help me look for Edelgard, and if you meet an Eagle, tell them to pack up and get ready for a one-night trip into the mountains. Canvass the others, I'll search the grounds," she said authoritatively, Hubert nodding seriously and falling into step. Nothing made a faster ally of Hubert than involving Edelgard.

She left the students' quarters behind, a stone of nervousness resting uncomfortably in her stomach. Where was Edelgard?

It was a welcome distraction when Sothis appeared beside her, floating and swaying nervously, akin to a shark through water.

" _Blythe_ ," she said, an urgentness in her voice she'd never heard before.

" _What is it, Sothis? I'm a bit busy right now_ ," she murmured under her breath as she checked the training grounds to no avail.

" _About that place we're going to, Zanado_ ..." she began nervously. " _I know it. I don't know why, but when Rhea said its name, I recognized it_." Her eyes were wide, awake in an exhilaration that she hadn’t seen, and that gave Blythe pause.

" _I know you're busy, but when we get there, we need to explore it, okay? It's important. Remember your promise!_ " she said desperately. There was no bite to her words, as if she was a child begging their caretaker to make good on what they'd said they would.

Blythe stopped her search, staring her down seriously. " _Of course, Sothis. We promised. We will make the time for you when we are there_ ," she said sincerely. " _Now, go tell Byleth the same. If you can, help look for Edelgard. I'm worried_ ," she said, eyes darting as she continued her search. Sothis nodded, flying off towards Byleth, wherever he was.

Sothis had proven a good secret-keeper. A ghost invisible to all but her and Byleth had to be. Yet all the same, she felt safe speaking to this ancient-seeming child in tribal garb. She was a good person, and despite herself she felt an unnameable bond with her she'd never felt with anyone else, similar yet different from that of her children.

She continued her search. She wasn't at the pond, she wasn't in the dining hall, not the greenhouse, the church, or the Goddess tower. Not the market, or the entrance hall. Despite herself, she began to grow fearful. So Edelgard had decided to wander without Hubert's overbearing presence, it shouldn't seem so strange, but despite herself she felt her anxiety give that nervous stone in her stomach spikes.

_Where was Edelgard?_

She walked the parapets inside the grounds, eyes scanning desperately. It was in the gardens that she'd already searched that she saw the tell-tale silver hair of her House leader, and deftly, she leaped from the wall, landing silently and running towards her. When she caught up to her, coming up behind and grabbing her shoulder with a soft "Edelgard," she jumped, whipping around with wide, terrified eyes.

"Edelgard?" she tried again, alarmed by her expression. "Are you alright? What's wrong," she asked, tone darkening. If anyone had caused her—caused Edelgard to seem so frightened they would deal with her.

"N-nothing! Nothing, Professor! What—um, what brings you here? Class is starting soon!" she said nervously, voice too high and too loud. A muted 'clank' echoed from their feet as she gave a cough, but when she looked there was nothing in sight but the hedges.

"We have an assignment," she said slowly. "So we need to prepare to ride to the Oghma Mountains to exterminate some bandits."

"O-oh! I, I see. And we are to prepare?" she confirmed, smile too wide.

"...Yes. Pack your bags and rouse the Eagles. And find Hubert, he was worried sick. Where were you?" she asked, her entire body relaxing, spiked stone evaporated as she stared into lavender eyes once more.

"Nothing of importance, Professor. Just a walk around the grounds, nothing more," she answered, seeming to tame herself, delicately parting her hair and returning herself to her usual pristine appearance.

"Well, maybe don't lie to Hubert next time. When he found out you weren't sleeping in as you said, he was worried," Blythe chastised, noting the way Edelgard winced and wrung her hands.

"Yes, he would, wouldn't he... I'm sure I don't need to tell you how... zealous Hubert can be. I just needed some time for myself," she said guiltily, quite so in fact.

Blythe softened, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're allowed to have your own time, even as an Emperor, Edelgard. You don't need to justify such things to me. But lies complicate things. Hubert will be hurt, whether you meant to or not. Be more honest with him, won't you? He cares for you deeply, even if he can be a bit misguided at times," she offered softly, fighting the urge to hold her close valiantly.

Edelgard nodded sadly, staring at her feet. "Of course, Professor. Of course you're right. I will endeavor to hold my ground and be honest with Hubert from now on."

Blythe smiled. "Good girl," she said softly. There had been no further overtures between them since that night, not truly; they had both been drunk, and touch-starved, and perhaps a bit scared, spooked in their own ways by being pushed unceremoniously into the limelight.

But they spoke, now. Every day after class, they spoke. Of many things. Lectures, her life before Garreg Mach and Edelgard's in turn, their dreams and ideals... she would be a liar if she said anything but that she cherished their talks and looked forward to them every day eagerly.

She had to fight hard not to push for more. They had never addressed that night directly, but Blythe did her very best to respect Edelgard's boundaries, their relationship that of a teacher and a star pupil.

It hurt her, certainly. A part of her wanted to make a clean break, to be cold and professional with how she'd clearly decided she was not interested in pursuing their relationship, but she couldn't.

She was starving for her. Their every touch was electric, her smile, her voice, her laugh, somehow they'd infected her; she needed them like an addict, and she'd do anything she asked to have more. She knew she should be ashamed by how pitiful she was being, but she couldn't. If anyone knew how she made her feel, they'd understand.

When she'd heard Edelgard crying in the night, it had frozen whatever was in her chest that wasn't a beating heart; she'd knocked, a trifle frantically, as she found the reason for her tears. Nightmares.

She didn't know what to do with nightmares. Her dreams had always been strange, alarmingly visceral, terrifically real, but never nightmarish. Flying, dragons with her, and she too bore wings like theirs. Bonfires, the feeling of dancing barefoot and free and knowing all who saw her looked on adoringly, because they were her children, and she, as their mother, loved them in turn. Safe, warm, happy. 

She was never weak. She was the strongest, in her dreams, and she was surrounded by her progeny. In many ways she never felt as alive as when she slept until Garreg Mach, echoes of emotion ringing in her chest even as she would wake, memories already fading. But that was changing, now. She had her own children, and the ones in her dreams felt like what she always knew them to be: echoes, memories of a life she'd never lived.

Not half as important as the children that were hers, and not the mysterious mother of dragons that lived in her dreams.

She'd wanted, crazily, to hold her close then, as she shook in her long nightgown, hands hiding behind her back. Hold her tight and protect her, teeth bared to any who neared because she had no idea how to deal with nightmares. But she couldn't do that.

So, she'd listened.

Edelgard had secrets; she'd always known that, but in that moment she began to understand. Maybe Edelgard had not rebuffed her; maybe there were other forces at play.

So, treacherously, foolishly, she held out hope.

And even now, as she watched Edelgard go, she felt the candle she kept for her glow a bit hotter, a bit brighter. 

She moved on, lost in thought. She had a lot to do still, despite this misadventure being sorted.

It was good that she was, too. Unbeknownst to her, Edelgard had been watching, waiting for her to leave, and when she did, she snuck back to where they'd stood. She reached into the hedge to pull out a bag with feathers coming out of it until she firmly pushed them back down, eyes darting. She left quickly.

When Blythe finally reached the stables, she was pleased to see everyone but Edelgard and Hubert there. Caspar in particular was practically vibrating with excitement, talking with Ferdinand about "beating the bad guys" and Ferdinand of "showing their nobility" and similar sentimental rot that despite herself she found charming coming from them.

"Eagles," she called as she spotted Byleth, going to stand by him. Unwittingly they mirrored each other, hands behind their backs with chin up as she addressed the children as her father had addressed his troops.

"Edelgard and Hubert are not present, so when they return I expect you to explain this to them if they do not come to one of us directly," she began. "This is my brother, Byleth. He leads the Blue Lions," she said neutrally, gesturing towards him, who gave a nod.

"He will be accompanying us, as this is our first live-steel mission. We're going to travel a short way to hunt down some bandits," she stated, rote and emotionless.

"This should not be a difficult mission. We will be going to the Zanado Canyon, not even a day's ride from here. We are going to clear them out, and then we will be coming home."

"But let us be clear, students," added Byleth. "My sister is using kind wording. We are going to kill these people, under Archbishop Rhea's orders."

Blythe nodded. "I doubt many, if any of you have had to kill. Today, you will learn what that means," she said, in the crisp tones of a military commander. Distantly, she caught sight of Hubert and Edelgard making their way to the back of the group.

"I have killed many people, and so has my brother. I will spare you the count, as it means little and is ultimately unknown, even to myself," she said unapologetically, sweeping her eyes over the now-nervous faces around her.

"I won't tell you of what to expect here, in the stable with the horses, because there's nothing to expect but the unexpected. Killing is different for everyone. I've seen mercenaries who broke on their first kills, some who savored it gleefully, some who felt nothing at all. We are going to stay the night when we are done, because whether you think you need it or not, you will need time to process this."

She stared at them all, eyes blank and cold. "But you will need to find where your strength comes from. Do not doubt, it takes will to kill another. Think about that, as we travel to their deaths." 

Without another word, they left for the stables, saddling and preparing their horses. Simple pack animals for the most part, the only one of her Eagles who would need a proper warhorse was Ferdinand.

Most of the stables belonged to the Knights, so there were not enough horses to go around; Edelgard and the twins were all able to procure gentle mares, Ferdinand a fiery black destrier who seemed to tolerate only him and Bernadetta. The rest of the Eagles walked. If any had issues with this, they did not voice them.

They saddled and mounted without incident, the Eagles expectedly silent in the face of Blythe's dark warning, but within a half-hour the train was chatty as ever.

Byleth was the one who spoke up first. _“Sothis,”_ he began, in their tongue.

She appeared when called, floating beside them both. “ _What is it? I was listening to the pretty one comfort the nervous one,”_ she said thoughtlessly.

“ _If you want to understand where you came from, maybe you should focus a bit more on this conversation, Sothis,”_ Byleth snapped grumpily, furrow in his brow.

“ _So: does anyone else think it’s odd that Rhea, the mysterious green-haired woman who bears a surprising resemblance to our resident ghost, had me, and only me, tag along on a no-risk mission to the canyon Sothis recognizes?”_ he asked, staring ahead, patting his horse’s neck.

“ _Of course we do, Byleth, the hard part is_ **_why_ ** _,”_ countered Blythe. Sothis gave a grunt of agreement.

“ _I feel as if I know her, and her attendant. Even the girl who visits you. But I can’t say more than that,”_ she stated, vexed.

They rode on in silence, the children chatting amicably behind them. “ _What does it mean..?_ ” murmured Blythe. Somehow, Zanado was the key.

“ _I don’t know, but I hope it’s worth losing a weekend of lesson planning and combat practice_ ,” Byleth sighed.

“ _It’s two days, Byleth, we can get back tonight if we push and it's such an issue,”_ she objected gently. “ _Whatever Rhea had planned for us at least I intend to get you back to your Lions quickly, okay? I promise._ ”

Byleth sighed. “ _I know. I’m sorry, sister, I know this isn’t your fault. It’s just an annoyance,”_ he admitted ruefully.

“ _Yes, yes, it’s an annoyance, we all agree, but this is important, there’s something hiding in that canyon we need to find!”_ interjected Sothis, flying ahead of them and turning around. “ _Stupid bandits, but then there’s Zanado! I know you wonder about why I’m here as much as I do! Buck up, look at the positives!”_

Neither twin spoke up in the face of her statement, but there was no need to, they were fairly chastened. The continued on, Zanado nearing, the path growing craggy, vegetation sparser. 

The absence of green made Blythe’s heart ache in some small way that she knew her brother shared, as if something great and lush had withered and died to make it so. It felt unnatural, seeing the sea of trees part to reveal something barren.

She was overwhelmed with the desire to restore it, deep in the depths of her heart.

The canyon yawned down beneath them as they crested the next hill.

She supposed her nascent restoration project would have to start with an eviction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oops... what did I do, Jerry?"
> 
> Expect more sometime next week! Thanks for reading!


	10. Zanado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eagles, plus Byleth reach Zanado. They spend the night.

It was a disorienting experience, peering down into Zanado, or what was left of it; the three of them stared down into its depths, sparsely populated by wandering bandits milling about their spent fires and tents, but this was a sight they had seen before and had no eyes for. What interested them lay beyond… or rather amidst.

It was like staring through two separate lenses. In one, Zanado as it was, filled with scum whose numbers called for a cull, the blood that would spill forth being the first moisture the starving plants that clung stubbornly to life would taste for who knew how long, the blood-letting needed by them as much as they needed the bandits who held it dead..

In the other, Zanado as it was meant to be: an apparition teeming with life, a lush riot of greens, not least of which among them the emerald and seafoam hair of its citizens, garbed in plain yet stately cotton robes and living harmoniously within it, washed in color as they flitted in and out of of the stone structures and foliage as they set about their daily tasks.

All three of them shook their heads in unison, Zanado returning to the present.

"I know this place..." murmured Sothis intensely.

They all did. Or at least, the twins had seen it before. Byleth, however, was beginning to entertain ideas as to why, precisely, they recognized this place, why this place had echoed in their dreams for as long as they could remember, and why Sothis seemed to know it even better than they did. Though, he supposed, such lines of inquiry would have to wait; they had a job to do.

He turned to his sister, the vague feeling of being spirited away fading in favor of an old hat. "It’s time, sister. Get your eagles in position. I'll search for a flank," he said in his soft, precise tones, the plan that had proven true like clockwork time and time again.

She nodded, and he began the leisurely stroll around the canyon's lip, looking for a place to climb down and get in position.

The edge led a fair ways into the canyon, and he spotted a likely spot, just past the rope bridge which bisected the bandit camp. From here he could break any stalemates easily and let the Eagles flood up into the camp proper to finish their bloody work.

As he began his careful descent down the cliff face, he heard the telltale clash of steel. Edelgard and the cheery one, Caspar were at the front, the rest of the Eagles a veritable 'ball of death' behind them, obliterating any foolish enough to stay and fight their vastly superior numbers.

Byleth continued to slide down, head craned to watch them make their way past the first ridge onto the central island in record time. His clever ploy to flank and disrupt the bandit defense seemed, as was often the case, much ado for nothing. Not that he regretted it. Underestimating one's foes was how good people died, and Byleth would never allow one of Blythe's children to be hurt. Blythe, he knew, would do the same for him had the roles been reversed.

With the central inlet cleared out with minimal effort, he snuck in from the north, landing in the back of the camp, the Eagles distant figures to the south. He could dimly make out the bright shock of hair that was Edelgard and, next to her, Blythe speaking quickly, likely about how to split the troops to pincer their forces if he knew his sister’s tactics well enough. Hopefully, his own would help make their decision an easier one.

With only the sound of a sword unsheathing as a warning, Byleth ran what he recognized as one of the only mages the bandits had clean through with the sickening sound of tearing sinew as he pulled his sword out, the body collapsing to the floor. 

He felt Edelgard and Blythe’s eyes on him, and gave a courtly bow before turning to meet the two axemen who ran to take him on as a bowman prepared a shot before he lost himself in the flow of battle. The last thing he saw of the Eagles being Edelgard frantically pointing towards him, likely signaling his reinforcements.

It was almost therapeutic, going easy on dregs like this. He danced around the beefy oafs, expending a laughably small amount of effort in keeping them between him and the archer who was trying in vain to get a bead on him as the reinforcements came in, Dorothea and Petra rushing forward backed by Blythe to take on the axemen as he danced his way to the archer. With a simple strike he broke his bow, sending him to the floor with a deft combination blow to follow it up, kicking his feet out from under him. Pitiful. Not an arrow fired. Archers never knew how to keep their feet.

With a heel grinding into the bandit's throat, struggling weakening by the moment, he watched the children’s performance. Edelgard was working through the western path, forming a strong front with Ferdinand breaking their formations from horseback as she and Caspar came in to smash them to pieces, Linhardt and Hubert offering support from the back lines when needed.

This really was overkill. He and Blythe alone could have taken them all out themselves.

The children seemed a bit shocked, their faces cautiously searching the battlefield to find their next target only to find all they had left was the bandit leader. They circled around him on his magical tile, the corpses of the other bowmen and their other mage bleeding out behind them amongst the abandoned weapons and crimson stains as they stared him down. Eyeing him more closely, he realized he recognized the man, however vaguely, from the attack in the forest all that time ago.

The children were what interested him, though. Some seemed unbothered, but a few others seemed shaken, Bernadetta unquestionably so, but oddly Dorothea as well. A quick look to one of the axemen he'd left for them confirmed a bolt of lightning had been his end, the smell of charred flesh filtering to him when he searched for it.

Bloodbath though it was, they were learning the lesson Rhea so heartlessly wished to teach them, and he could but watch as the Grand Guignol played out before him.

"So this is how it ends, huh!?” the leader barked out, though the bite in it seemed to have died with the man under Byleth’s heel. “Poor ol' Kostas, can't even get a crust of bread in these times so you're gonna kill 'im!?"he shouted, standing self-consciously at the tile’s center, a rare fixture. whatever this canyon had been once upon a time, it would truly have been grand if the ruined bridges and masonry that littered the canyon said anything.

"Spare us the morality play, bandit. You're a coward and a killer, nothing more," sniffed Edelgard, axe hanging loosely at her side. "Die with dignity, or like a savage fool, I don't care which," she said with a voice like frost. Kostas spat at her feet.

"Pah. Should never've trusted that damn Flame Emperor—" he began, Edelgard suddenly rushing forward to cut him off with Kostas only barely managing to catch her strike. 

They all watched the one-sided battle, none inclined to assist in what was so obviously an execution. They danced for a few moments before Edelgard effortlessly broke his guard, sending her axe halfway through Kostas's leg, the man falling to the ground with a howl, her axe ramming through his head in a final _coup de grâce_.

Simple as that, the canyon was cleansed of its defilement, the only sign of their existence the tents and corpses.

"It's done," said Blythe authoritatively. "Good work, everyone. I fear they proved no match for us, so I'm sorry to say there was not much to learn here but a lesson in mortality," she said, tone as somber as either of their voices ever got.

The Eagles looked around the canyon, quietly assessing it, taking it all in amidst the now-permeable silence that prevailed over the canyon. If they were to stay the night here, it would be a long one. As a group, the Eagles did an admirable job of quickly finding a spot not laden with corpses and the stench of death, portioning out chores amongst themselves, Caspar tasked with digging the latrine, Ferdinand firewood, Petra with perhaps finding them a bit of something that wasn't hardtack and jerky, and so on.

Blythe stepped forward, a quiet conversation passing between her and Edelgard before she returned to Byleth's side, Sothis appearing and looking nervous. Wordlessly, they stepped away to begin their exploration, Sothis floating down below the inlet, exploring where they couldn't.

Slowly, like the windows of a city lighting up at dusk, the Zanado-that-should blinked back into their vision as they searched; ruined pillars came back into being, forming structures open to the perfumed air at all sides, green-haired ghosts walked by them, delicately paved paths branching roughly around where the worn footpaths of the present day now lay.

Even the paving stones had been ransacked, an observation that made Byleth sick. What was here was mercilessly stripped, humans scuttering like beetles to steal this place's very bones, desecrating this once-great-civilization's corpse. His chest tightened at the thought.

"They took everything..." he whispered, desolate and for only Blythe to hear. She gave a terse nod. She felt it too. This was a place of loss. Despite his initial distaste at Rhea's extreme wording, he couldn't help but agree with her after being here. This hallowed land had suffered enough; it was horrible to have it be further desecrated by squatters roosting in this place's bones, blind to the aura of loss which subsumed it.

Rhea had certainly chosen an apt place to have the children lose their innocence.

Sothis swam up from below the inlet to meet them. "I found something, down below," she said, their solemnity infecting even the precocious spirit. In an unusual move, she floated to the ground, staring at her feet, as she walked along the dead earth beneath them.

They could only follow in silence, the look in Sothis's eye a pain he'd hoped never to see. It was all-encompassing, her teasing smile replaced with a solemn frown. He hadn't realized how much her smile had become a cherished bit of normalcy in his life.

How much Sothis had become a part of his life in general, really.

It pained him to know that her search for knowledge about herself had led her to such a place. If she had once lived here, with the other green-haired apparitions... he shuddered to imagine what must have transpired. 

She led them down a dilapidated path carved into the side of one of the inlets, leading them down, down to the bottom of the canyon. Zanado-that-should mocked them when they reached the bottom. Beautiful, immaculate, untouched by violence. Potted plants hung from the balconies, homes dug into the walls of the canyon, greenery overflowing through Zanado-that-is's corpse. 

Sothis led them down Zanado-that-should's paths as if in a trance. "I lived here," she murmured, desolate.

"This was my home... these were my people..." she continued, voice shaky. "I know this place, I need you to see it," her pace increased as she walked, following the path to its terminus at the end of the canyon, the Zanados briefly realigning in front of a gaping hole. Sothis walked into it thoughtlessly, the twins following, Blythe holding a flame in-hand to help light the way.

The darkness made everything worse. He had no idea what was real and what was a part of the present or past, but he felt the frantic energy that was powering Sothis, the breathless, desperate need to find what she needed before she broke down and wept... he had never felt such a feeling as acutely as he felt this, following through what he could only describe as a tomb.

Then, past the dark figures of chatting spirits seated at tables that weren't there, he saw it.

The throne. 

The three of them stood before it, feeling as ghostly as the phantoms around them.

This was it. This was where the throne from their dreams had sat in the real world, the one Sothis had been sitting on that night, perfectly realized as if its artisan had torn it from their minds to sit immaterial before them, its image flitting in and out of existence through the mirrors of the Zanados that are and were.

They were all speechless, for a time.

"Sothis..." began Byleth, turning to her. "This throne... it belonged to you, didn't it?"

She stared at the throne like it was a vengeful ghost, her face full of pain and shame. A tear ran down her cheek, and both the twins knelt to match her height in tandem, resting a hand on her intangible shoulders.

"Once upon a time... long, long ago..." whispered Sothis, eyes unfocused and shimmering.

"This was my place. I ruled here, Byleth," she said, voice shaking violently. "These were my people."

She sat down on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

"And they are all dead, because I failed to protect them," she choked, her voice stripped bare and suffering, tears tracking down a face too youthful to hold such pain. "It is good that it was lost," she sniffed, broken. "I do not deserve to sit upon it outside your minds."

The twins held her as best as they could possibly hold a ghost, wrapping their arms around her, shushing, murmuring soft words for the little ghost they had come to care for.

There were no words either twin knew to say. Whatever had happened here, whoever Sothis had been, whatever her trials, they couldn’t say. But there was one thing they realized in the shadow of that dream-throne whose presence weighed so heavily on them all: he and Blythe loved Sothis, and they refused to let her suffer her pain alone.

"We're here," murmured Byleth softly. "We have you," swore Blythe.

Sothis made a pitiful noise, small hands scrunching into her eyes as she wept in truth now.

"Y-you are too good to me," she blubbered as they sat in the darkness of the cave, blind but for touch, though somewhere in the darkness between them, Byleth could almost feel Sothis in their arms.

In time, their little ghost cried herself out, her voice dampening to the occasional sniffle. Slowly, she stood, walking to stand where her throne had sat, and sighed as she turned to face them. 

"Well..." began Sothis, "All one can do in the face of such loss is swear to never let it happen again," she said, a glimmer of her usual spark returning to her. "You two," she said, pointing at them authoritatively.

"Before, we were of an accord that you would help me find out who I was. And while I don't remember it all, this alone is more than I had dared to hope. I wish to thank you," she said, falling into her usual speech patterns, coming back to herself.

"So, congratulations! I, Sothis, chieftain of Zanado as it was, swear to protect you and yours with all that remains of what I am!" she cried decisively, hands at her hips.

The twins stared at her, admittedly bug-eyed.

"S-Sothis, there's no need—" began Byleth, before quickly being talked over.

"I'll hear no arguments! You are my new charges, and where I failed once, I shall not fail again! With all that I am, I swear to protect you. Byleth and Blythe, the stars saw fit to bind us, and I know now it was for a reason! It was for redemption," she swore heatedly.

"You may not realize it yet, but you are both bound for greatness. As such, I will help make you great! To prepare you for the challenges greatness shall place before you!" she continued, beginning to march out of the cavern and continuing her, to Byleth's surprise, impressively rousing speech, ending once the light of dusk greeted them at the cave's mouth.

They had been gone long enough, they realized, and so they began the trek back to their worldly responsibilities in silence, the three of them emotionally drained but satisfied. None of them had expected to find what they did, and, as if that epiphany was what had been waiting for them, the Zanado-that-was gradually faded from their vision, leaving what they had behind.

It wasn't all bad, not truly. Not what it was, certainly, but things could change. Maybe Zanado's story didn't have to be over yet. Even Sothis was trying, however forcefully, to turn over a new leaf for them, after all.

They returned to find a camp in somewhat high spirits. The mood was not by any means raucous, but it looked like some time with the realization of what they'd done had not broken them, not that he thought it would. Even Dorothea and Bernadetta, those most shaken by the battle, were sitting closely with Petra, surreptitiously munching at berries and talking amongst themselves in soft words, Ferdinand and Caspar were rough-housing while Linhardt was already fast asleep with his head against his still-packed bedroll.

He was beginning to see how such a boy might frustrate Blythe, he thought with an amused shake of his head.

Edelgard and Hubert spoke in quiet tones on a long-dead log Ferdinand had felled, a pile of cut branches sitting in a neat pile next to its trunk.

It was a good fire, Byleth mused, staring into its depths. It burned brightly, likely thanks to Caspar’s enthusiasm, and it roared, more a bonfire than anything, the smell of cooked meat already eaten lingering on the wind. He sat down, Blythe and Sothis joining him.

"I know this sight..." murmured Blythe, her eyes glimmering strangely in the firelight. " _On days like this, we used to dance around the fire, didn't we Sothis?_ " she asked, eyes never leaving the flames.

Something about the pronouncement awoke something in Byleth, gazing at his sister intensely.

" _You're right, sweet Blythe. On nights like this, when we were safe and happy, we would dance, and sing_ ," Sothis said as if it were a spell.

" _The mercenaries loved to, but we kept to ourselves on the whole_ ," supplied Byleth, staring back at the fire.

" _But you saw me dance a bit away from the mercenaries when they got loud. I was just shy_ ," added Blythe with a smile. Sothis gave a soft laugh.

" _Oh, so you're just like Ce—Ce..._ " and Sothis trailed off, biting her lip in thought. " _Oh, curses. I almost had something there_ ," she murmured sadly.

Byleth felt awkward, desperate to change the subject. " _What was that one song you liked, Blythe? The one Maria the Red-Hair would sing when she got drunk_?" he asked, trying desperately to sound nonchalant.

" _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ ?" suggested Blythe, looking at him strangely. " _Oh, I barely remember how it went, Maria left the company so long ago..._ " she murmured. Softly, she hummed, finger matching the tone of the notes as she went.

" _No, no, it had that lift in the middle, like..."_ and he sang the section, Blythe giving an open-mouthed nod of approval.

" _Yes, like that. I forget how the stanzas went, it just had a thousand to them from every drunk who could rhyme 'cat' with 'hat_ ," she said, grasping her chin as she lost herself in thought.

" _Well, I think the official ones were just the first three, and then it gets more... liberal_ ," he said, rattling off the first stanza confidently, surprised when Caspar appeared directly in his peripheral vision, narrowly dodging a surprised punch.

"Whoa! Easy, Professor!" he said cheerily, a big smile on his face. 

"Yes, Caspar?" asked Byleth, his voice eerily level as he tried very hard not to acknowledge the fact he'd nearly struck a student.

"I was just listenin'! You sing real good!" he said, eyes crinkling with the force of his smile.

"Hey Dorothea! Professor Byleth can sing!" he called across the fire.

"Really!?" she cried, obviously delighted. "Oh! Oh, I know! We should put on a show for everyone!" she cheered, running up to Byleth's side and grabbing his hand.

Byleth gave an awkward shrug. "I...that is, I've never... I've never sung for anyone but Blythe," he admitted shamefaced, off-hand running through his hair.

"Oh, fie on that, Professor! It's just the same when you sing for one person as for a thousand! I should know, I was in the opera!" she said proudly, giving him an encouraging wink, pouring on a charm he was not immune to.

“That’s… not the same,” he said, suddenly feeling very small.

“Please, Professor, none of that. I’ve heard you at choir practice.”

"C'mon, let's hear it!" cheered Sothis, Blythe offering an encouraging nod of her own.

Byleth, in a sensation he had not felt in a long time, sensed his cheeks burning. "...Very well. What do you want me to sing?" he asked, hiding his blush with a cough covered by his fist. If he’d ever wondered how it felt to be a traveling minstrel, then in this moment, they’d earned his eternal respect. How they put up with demands such as this was beyond him.

"Why don't I start, and you join in, okay Professor?" she said gently, giving his hand a small squeeze and smiling up at him with such charm that even he had to admit had him under a spell.

She began with an old classic, known to anyone who'd ever sat around a fire or in an alehouse, singing with such verve and sincerity that he was stricken. He couldn’t believe that a moment ago, she was the girl sitting in a corner grimly eating berries.

Perhaps singing in the opera let you change faces like that. Maybe she found solace in it.

Despite himself, he found himself singing along after just the first line, the two of them harmonizing well, he had to admit.

It was something new to him, Blythe never having been as skilled a singer as he was. Her skills lay in dance. And from the way she was standing up, it looks like she was about to move her feet in turn. 

Sothis, too, he noted as he watched the two of them, curious. He remembered something like this now... dances around the fire. Another memory of Zanado-that-was, one of Sothis's lost memories that had trickled down to them.

He had no hard proof, but it seemed obvious in its simplicity. Sothis had simply always been with them.

Sothis and Blythe began a truly curious dance; to anyone but him it must have been fascinating. He saw the two of them stepping and twirling around each other effortlessly, dancers playing off of each other and delighting in their physicality, but to them it would have been the fascinating sight of Blythe dancing perfect counterpoint to an invisible partner. They must have thought her a phenom, even Dorothea beside him stared at her, obviously impressed.

Well, he supposed, to them they were probably full of surprises, singing and dancing like old hands.

The Eagles were transfixed on them, evidently delighted by the impromptu show, even Linhardt waking to stare at them from where he propped up his head on his arm, still reclining on his wrapped bedroll. Caspar was even clapping along cheerily, Petra, Bernadetta and Dorothea staring at Blythe and where Sothis would be with wide eyes.

Edelgard... her expression was unreadable, but even with crossed arms it was obvious she was clutching her arms tightly and had eyes only for Blythe.

Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel the Eagle girls had something in common, and that was that they were all very, very gay.

If Byleth hadn't been in the middle of hitting a note he'd have snorted at the realization.

He looked to the boys then. Cheery, energetic boy, lazy boy who the cheery one doted on — stars, they were all gay.

Probably Hubert, too. He probably looked either way.

It seemed they were in good company. The thought gave him a surprising amount of solace as the song wound down and Dorothea was excitedly dragged away by her girlfriends.

Edelgard was still just staring at Blythe, too focused to be subtle.

Seeing everyone enjoying themselves, how they seemed so happy...

He began singing another tune, an old one only he and Blythe would know.

...Well, and Sothis, if his theory held true.

It was much slower, delicate in its tempo, each note a step in the dance Sothis and Blythe seemed to recognize in the depths of their shared memories. 

Blythe danced like a marionnette suspended in the air, movements ethereal and seemingly impossible for the luxurious slowness of them, muscles straining visibly as she and Sothis mirrored each other, heels kicking at the dirt as each note brought them further in the dance. The fire blazed behind them, everyone, Byleth included, mesmerized by their display.

Byleth sang, dragged by the same strings as his sister.

He'd never seen Blythe dance like this; it was practically worshipful, arms outstretched towards the crescent moon above her, wreathed in fire that seemed to sway with them both.

All three of them seemed to be pushed by some unseen force to continue, to bring the dance to its conclusion. It felt like a devotion, a small memory of Zanado for the innocents around them to appreciate, to see that this red canyon was beautiful, and was not always what it was now.

When the short song came to an end, they were met with wide-eyed silence, Dorothea in tears, staring between the two of them before clapping frantically.

"Bravo! Oh, bravo!!" she cried, the others keeping silent but their appreciation no less clear for it.

"That was incredible, Teacher! Professor Byleth, that was incredible, I've never heard, never seen such a thing!"

Awoken from their fugue state, the both of them were mortified. The students all but flooded them, drowning them in praise. Dorothea was excitedly babbling, offering them both positions at the Mittelfrank that neither of them could ever hope to make good on, that their talents were wasted on the battlefield.

Nervously the twins both backed into each other and held hands for support, Sothis giving a good-natured laugh before disappearing into nowhere as she did.

"Okay, alright, let's calm down, everyone," said Blythe, saving him from the horde and pulling him back.

"You saw us have a bit of fun, but let's all remember we're here for a job, alright? We're staying the night and making sure there are _no_ more bandits," she said stoically. She turned to Edelgard, locking eyes and making an embarrassingly red blush creep onto her face.

"Edelgard, come with me. I'll show you how to prepare a watch rotation, and then you can divvy it out," she said gently, a soft smile on her face, something he'd almost never seen her do for anyone but him or Jeralt. But now she smiled for Sothis, too, and for Edelgard.

He was happy for Blythe; for being the better talker, she had always had more trouble bonding with others. She stroked his hand and gave him a smile as well before walking off, finger crooked to beckon Edelgard who followed shyly.

Dorothea took her place almost immediately, eyes glimmering with curiosity. "Hello, Professor," she said sweetly.

Awkwardly, he did his best to give what he thought was a polite smile. "Hello, Dorothea. Can I... help you?" he inquired.

"Just curious," she hummed, seating them on the now-vacated log, Hubert having stood to wander off. "You both are really incredible, professor," she said sincerely. 

Byleth gave a huff of amusement. "Well, Rhea seems to think so, the way she all but press-ganged us into teaching," he said ruefully. 

"Well, I'm rather glad. Blythe is a very kind woman, and a great teacher," she said dreamily, deftly changing the topic as she stared into the fire resting her head on her hand. She turned to him again. "And you're not half-bad yourself," she teased with a wink. Byleth coughed into his fist and pretended the color in his cheeks was from singing.

"Well... thank you, Dorothea. I miss my Lions, but I can see Blythe is lucky to have you all," he answered, losing himself in the flames as well. The camp slowly seemed to be winding down, Linhardt actually bringing his bedroll into one of the tents they'd pitched. The others slowly radiated out of the fire’s orbit towards their own tents.

"What brought you to Garreg Mach, Dorothea?" He asked, staring into the fire.

"You liked the Opera. Anyone with eyes could say you had fun just now."

Dorothea said nothing for a long moment, silence pregnant.

"I found out I was a mage, Professor. That the army would take me, and I could feed myself, even when I grew old. That I would get a pension," she said softly, obviously giving only a portion of her motivations.

She put a hand on his shoulder, giving a friendly squeeze, and she stood up. "Well, whatever the case I'd best be off," she stated with a blustery sigh. “My beauty sleep calls.”

Byleth gave an ungentlemanly snort. "Yes, you need all the help you can get," he deadpanned. "Rest well, Dorothea."

"You too, Professor," she echoed with a kind smile before she walked off.

Dorothea was a sweet girl, and she was obviously fond of her friends who were waiting for her. Both of them. They shared a hug, laughing and smiling as they made their way into their too-small tent as a trio.

...Hm.

Well, Dorothea had two hands, as did they all, he mused, staring into the fire and thinking of fairytale princes and fox-faced tricksters thoughtfully.

He was jolted from his reverie when Blythe came back to sit beside him, staring into the fire with him for a few moments before piping up.

"I gave us both a watch. Do you want first or third?" she asked, businesslike.

"I'll take third. I could use some rest after today," he admitted. She nodded in turn.

"Thank you, Byleth," she spoke into the fire, staring straight ahead.

"What for?" he asked, curious.

"You're good with the students. I'm glad you're here, even ignoring Sothis's request and all of that," she said in monotone. "I guess I forget, sometimes, take it for granted. I wanted you to know I appreciate you, By. You're important to me," she finished before quieting down.

Something must have happened, surely. Something _had_ to have happened.

"Blythe..?" he asked softly, nervously.

"Don't worry, brother. I'm fine, I promise. Go take your rest, Ferdinand and I are on watch," she said, never looking at him.

He wanted to say something, wanted to confront her, but all that came out of his mouth was "Alright," as he stood up and made his way to the teachers’ tent.

With rote, tired movements he stripped down, sword beside his shoes as he slid into his bedroll and tried not to think as sleep took him.

It was not long before his watch came, the children woke and they were off, leaving Zanado's shadow behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun one for us! We're finally getting into the actual divergences we've been planning, so from here things will start to judder and buck. 
> 
> Well, in due time at least. Shang has something soft and fluffy coming along, hoho.
> 
> If you'd like to talk with us or other people who enjoy this, we have a Discord! You can join us at https://discord.gg/8tW9kfY
> 
> Also, the song that was used for the imagining of Blythe and Byleth's duet was the Pocket Watch Theme from A Few Dollars More but with manakete language. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tiTzQoEWDw


	11. Coin Flip: Blythe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe debriefs with the Lady Rhea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! We've got a double for you this week. Today is Blythe's side of the coin, Sunday will be Byleth's. We hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, We also have a discord if you'd like to drop by and say hello! https://discord.gg/8tW9kfY

The ride home was not grim, but Blythe had no intention to leave important things unsaid.

Once they had packed up camp, stamping out the fire and dousing the embers, they all went on their way, leaving only the ashes and footprints behind them. Well, and the corpses perhaps, Blythe supposed, something she rarely gave herself room to dwell on. But the children would need to be given the space to if they were to lead in any martial capacity, officers as they would become.

“About yesterday,” Blythe began, opening the floor up for discussion, her children perking up and surrounding her and Edelgard's horses like a guard detachment to hear her words. “What happened was likely the first time some of you have had to see what you did. I want to give you the space to discuss the events where you won’t be judged.”

No one volunteered anything immediately, the students awkwardly looking to their classmates to be the one to break the silence.

The first one to do so was Ferdinand, a raised hand and a serious look on his face. "I don't feel bad about it," he admitted without shame. "Those were evil people who would have gone on to hurt other people even more. I didn't enjoy it, but it is a noble's duty to put down people such as them for the sake of everyone."

Blythe gave a firm nod. "That is a perfectly valid justification, Ferdinand. Better than the ones I usually give myself at least," she said with a humorless smile. "We all find our own justifications for the things that we do,” she continued slowly as if to enunciate the point she was making. “In my experience working with mercenaries both good and bad, stable and not, I’ve learned that what is most important is not to lose your humanity in the doing.”

Her face softened as much as her habits would allow, in a way that was reserved for only those close to her, as they were proving to become. "I will not tell you that it is wrong to find pleasure in killing the wicked, or that mourning any loss of life is weak. We all walk different paths as soldiers and we must find our own ways to sleep at night."

She was silent for a time, before she spoke up again: "For some of you, talking may even feel like a waste of time. Perhaps it is, and there is nothing wrong with that, but know there is nothing wrong with wishing to talk about it either. So long as you don't lose your mind and grow obsessed with morbidity or allow death to become meaningless to you, it is likely it is alright," she continued in soft, clear tones.

"If you don't know if what you are feeling is healthy or safe, I encourage you to speak out. To your friends, to your faculty, to me, to whomever you trust. Do not drown alone," she continued in a hypnotic hum. "But that is enough of that. We will be nearing Garreg Mach shortly, and you have earned some time to relax. Stay safe all the same as we travel onwards."

Byleth, meanwhile, as she gave her speech, had been busily writing into one of his own journals at the head of the train, and the pen continued scratching across the pages after she’d stepped down off the soapbox. The poor man. She was beginning to grow a bit worried and, if she was honest, she suspected he was taking his loss at the mock battle a touch too personally.

She, at least, had treated it more as good fun than any true test of skill. Expecting one's students to be ready for a full scale mock battle a week into the year was simple foolishness. She had not pulled out any of her truly special stratagems that she would have trusted Jeralt's mercenaries to follow through with, and similarly she offered little expectation of the mind games skilled tacticians played against one another. She had gone for simple but effective, but Byleth had always been more high-minded in his strategies. She was the one more interested in the realpolitik of an active battlefield.

He'd always wanted to be like one of the wizard-tacticians from the old histories, outplaying each other with clever tactics and gutsy bluffs.

She just wanted to win.

A soft sigh escaped her lips. She should leave him to it, get it out of his system. She doubted there was anything she could say to soothe him, absurd time trickery or no.

It was for the best. She had something she wanted to do, and it would probably be for the best if Byleth wasn't there when she did it.

She lost herself in the cheerful susurrations of conversation around her then, remarking that it was nothing like the mercenaries all that time ago.

Stars, it felt like a lifetime ago, when it was just her and Byleth holding each other, distrustful of the hired swords around them knowing their loyalties likely lay with coin. Desperate people did desperate things, after all, and they’d seen the more foolish numbering among them attempt what couldn’t have been worth what they earned for it, particularly from the Blade Breaker himself if not by their own hands.

What had changed? Was this truly all it took for them to crawl out of their frozen shells? Laughing children and a proper roof over their heads?

The mercenaries had taken to calling them ashen demons, unholy beasts who killed with impunity, faces never so much as twitching as blood spattered over them. Feared. Distrusted. Jeralt's monstrous children, born to kill and devoid of humanity.

But these children, her Eagles, his Lions, even Claude and his Deer... they weren't monsters to them. She didn't want them to think herself a monster either because, despite the grim moniker, she never was. She did what she had to.

And as Garreg Mach slowly came into view, she swore to herself that was exactly what she would do. She cantered up towards Byleth, interrupting his trance.

"You can go back to the Lions classroom. I can handle debriefing Rhea," she said, hoping the softness in her voice would dissuade any suspicions that were sure to rise.

He turned to look at her, true to tone, eyebrow giving a twitch which was as good as a disbelieving quirk from someone else.

"You don't want me joining you," he said, apprehension and confusion apparent in his remark as he put his journal into his saddlebag deftly.

"It's not that, I just... I know you want to get back to your Lions. Whatever Rhea wants I can handle it. You should go back to your children," she said, twirling a piece of hair on her finger.

He looked at her seriously, eyes piercing. Neither of them could lie to the other. It was easy to bluff others, sure, but never each other, and she knew he could smell that she was up to something, even if he couldn’t place what.

"...Fine. Let me know if something happens," he said finally, making her breathe an invisible sigh of relief.

"As ever," she promised.

The gates opened without their call, the guards obviously expecting them. She recognized the cheery gate-guard who had greeted them the first time they made their way through the gates, giving a chipper hello to her and hers. She returned his greeting with a polite nod, and they were through.

"You have the day, Eagles. I must go and debrief with Lady Rhea. Give what I've said some thought, and enjoy your time off," she said firmly, before hopping off her horse and handing a stablehand the reins.

It was time she got some answers.

It was a short walk after so long on the road. The smell of varnish filled her lungs as she made her way through the officers’ halls, Jeralt conspicuously absent from his office as she made her way to the massive double doors which led to Rhea's chambers.

She knocked thrice.

"Enter," came a soft voice from within, and she did so, the smell of sandalwood assaulting her senses once more as she closed the door behind her.

"Lady Rhea," she stated deadpan, giving a nod, a solid twenty paces between them.

"Blythe," she responded politely, porcelain smile in place, though Blythe didn’t miss the way her eyes seemed to glint in the dim light. "I take it the mission was successful?"

"They're all dead, Lady Rhea," she said bluntly. "There were no difficulties or even wounds to report. They were the lowest form of bandit, and their blood nourishes Zanado," she said with grim finality. The way Rhea's smile seemed to widen, the subtle smell of ash and fire beginning to slither in beneath the sandalwood told her she was on the right track. Sothis made her presence known, floating in a corner, staring at them impassively.

Now was time for her gambit. "It is only me here, because unfortunately Professor Byleth has some remedial work to do with his Lions because of the short notice of the assignment.”

She allowed a beat to pass before she proceeded, Rhea’s insidious curiosity no doubt boring into her back. “While I applaud caution, I'm surprised you thought it wiser to send him with me instead of some green squire to assist," she said, staring off somewhere to the side of Rhea, unwilling to meet her eyes of yet.

Rhea was silent for perhaps a moment longer than she should have been. "Zanado is a sad place; I understand your father did not tell of the Goddess's teachings, so I thought it would perhaps enrich your devotion to both gaze upon one of the Goddess's holy places," she said diplomatically.

"And why would we be interested in Zanado or the Goddess, Lady Rhea? Are you seeking to convert us? Diverting your professor from his duties for a religious field trip hardly seems a good use of his time," she stated, pointedly leaving herself out of the inquiry in a dare, and with arms crossed she finally met Rhea's eyes.

" _I know you can understand me. If you really want to know what happened in Zanado, we expect explanations. We are not puppets to be strung along, killing bandits while you smile and watch_ ," she said, her own voice low and gravelly in a way that surprised her. 

Rhea's smile deepened, voice taking on a beatifically melodic quality. "Why, Blythe, I'm sure I don't know what you're saying," she said with that porcelain smile shifting so that it reminded her more of a snake's mouth than anything. "Ah, but your voice is so lovely! It has such a surprising rumble, one wouldn't think your chest capable of such a thing," she mused strangely.

Blythe frowned, grinding her teeth, but before she could retort, Rhea continued.

"But Zanado is very relevant to modern happenings, even if it may not seem to be so. Perhaps if I knew what you had to offer I could explain how," she said, voice fluttering cheerily, eyes crinkling with joy from cause unknown.

Blythe had come in here ready to play hardball, though now she frankly wasn't sure what was happening. But the die had been cast.

" _Your kin,_ " she hissed, tongue taking on a sibilant quality she rarely allowed it to. " _They lived there. But they're all gone now. Zanado was ransacked. Everything is gone, even the throne_ ," she hissed, eyes straining in a way she'd never felt before. Colors looked strange, things were shifting. The incense was getting to her, the potent smell of brimstone overwhelming her senses. Her skin prickled, and she found she wanted to bare her teeth.

She could smell Rhea's interest. Her eyes were wide, slitted, and she gave a deep huff as if an animal.

 _"You saw them,_ " the Archbishop hissed in her tongue — _their_ tongue — and she felt a spike of vicious delight at having drawn something out of her.

 _"Why do you look like them?_ " she countered, the smell, speaking in this tongue and seeing Sothis's eyes slitting like Rhea's leaving her feeling like she was in some sort of fugue.

" _They are my ancestors,_ " she said simply, face free finally of its mask. _"I am one of the few survivors. One of Seiros's get. They were killed, one and all. Seteth, Flayn and I are the only_ _descendants_ _who have survived to our knowledge_ ," she continued on with a hiss to her words, her accent somehow infinitely thicker than hers, tighter, sharper, her mouth gnashing to expel the syllables.

" _Who killed them?_ " she asked, horrified. To think any survivors of that sad place lived on was not something she had even considered, even if their coloring stared her in the face. She was peering into a crevasse and felt she had no choice but to delve.

" _Agarthans_."

Then, the Archbishop of Fódlan spat on the floor.

" _Even today they hunt for relics of Zanado's people, desperate to erase them. It is base greed. They wanted what we had and still do,"_ she hissed hatefully.

 _"But we are Children of the Goddess, same as Seiros, and same as you or I. I will not rest until I've torn those slitherers out of their dens and slit their throats as they stare up at the moon they lust after so foolishly,_ " she swore darkly.

Unbidden, Rhea stepped towards her, until they were face to face, Rhea caressing her cheek softly, the slit in her eyes obvious as Blythe stared up at her.

" _You are_ _her_ _children, too,_ " she crooned. " _I know not how or why, but you speak their tongue, you bear their traits, even watered down as they are with Jeralt for a father_ ," she said dreamily, staring down at her with a smile that Blythe could only describe as motherly. 

" _You are of our bloodline, and you needed to see what Zanado had to offer. Both of you_ ," she continued, the smell of smoke deep and encompassing. Enveloped in it as she was, it was no longer the acrid poison she'd come to associate with Rhea’s secrets, but the soothing taste of Seiros blend, of hot, strong tea that left her feeling as if she'd swallowed fire. She was practically drunk on it.

" _They took her throne_ ," she found herself admitting shakily, the pain coming anew. " _They_ **_took_ ** _it._ "

" _Her throne?_ " Rhea reiterated, stroking her back, slit eyes and soft smile somehow so much more comforting when she was held like this, like family.

" _Sothis_ ," she gasped, before she could stop herself. " _They killed her, and they took her throne, the Agarthan_ s," she got out in a rush, the pain seizing her heart, Rhea giving an audible intake of breath.

" _Sothis_ ," whispered Rhea as if it were a revelation. " _You saw her_ ?" she asked, eyes intense, fire acrid once more, choking her. " _You must tell me if you saw her!_ " she demanded, begged, eyes wide and vulnerable as she cut crescents into the exposed skin of Blythe’s upper arms.

 _"I-I just knew it, I saw her on the throne,_ " Blythe babbled, realizing that she'd fallen into some sort of trap and started backpedaling. " _I just knew it. I just knew her name, she said nothing,_ " she clarified, Sothis herself biting her finger as she watched Rhea worriedly.

Rhea stilled then, her grip loosening as she held her. She gave a soft sigh, a whispered "oh" as she slowly pulled her even closer. The smoke mellowed, and Blythe could feel herself relaxing despite herself, something indescribable crawling under her skin, like a sense she never knew she had picked up Rhea's emotions on some level beyond the physical.

"I'm sorry you had to find out about her in such a terrible way," she whispered softly, hand rubbing circles in her back. " _I did not think your bonds to Zanado would be so strong._.." she murmured softly.

" _It was so green, Rhea_ ," she said sorrowfully, so thankful to have a sympathetic ear. 

" _It was_ ," Rhea agreed with a soft smile, full of pain. " _It was beautiful, wasn't it?_ "

Blythe only nodded into her shoulder, for a brief delirious moment wondering if this was what it was like to have a mother. 

She nervously returned what she distantly realized was a hug, savoring the feeling of someone other than Byleth or Jeralt holding her, even if it was this woman she thought was an enemy, but might very well be their friend, their family.

" _You said the Agarthans were still about_ ," she said softly into Rhea's shoulder.

"Do not fear, my dear," she purred, her chest seeming to vibrate as Blythe's had. " _I won't let them hurt you. I have made it one of my missions in life to tear them root and stem from this world for their crimes._ "

" _I want to help_ ," Blythe whispered in turn. " _I want them gone, and once I explain it to Byleth, he will too._ "

Rhea made another soft noise, headdress clinking gently as she leaned down, nuzzling softly into the smaller woman's neck, breathing in the smell of her appreciatively, the gesture making some animal part of Blythe's mind preen with delight.

 _"You are a good child, Blythe,_ " she said approvingly. " _But what we have spoken of today cannot be explained in detail, even to Byleth,_ " she warned seriously, pulling back to meet her eyes, still slit. " _I am not telling you to lie to him, not at all, but the Slitherers, they... have ways of getting information that are queer and unnatural. The less Byleth knows, the safer he will be.”_

Blythe furrowed her brow, some level of dissonance ringing in the hollow of her chest where the maternal caress had been. “ _But—_ ”

"I _can't risk both of you,_ " she said, face twisting into a mask of pain. " _I should not have told any of this to you, for your own safety, but..._ " she gave a helpless smile. " _I never thought I would have cause to call anyone else my kin, and I lost myself._ "

Blythe nodded thoughtlessly. " _I don't want to put him in danger either_ ," Blythe admitted. " _But we are two sides of the same coin. I can't lie to him, certainly not about something as important as this_.”

Rhea frowned softly, staying silent for a moment, the smell of her smoke soft and gentle. " _No, I suppose you couldn't,_ " she admitted ruefully. " _Perhaps then say nothing at all,_ " she suggested, eyes gimlet and much more similar to the dangerous woman she had come to know from their few meetings before.

" _Find excuses to be away from him; you said he was busy with his Lions, and I can make him busier_ ," she continued, hands clasping demurely in front of her as she spoke, starkly unfitting for the subterfuge she was suggesting. " _Within a few days, it will pass, and he will likely think nothing of note occurred here, a simple debriefing devoid of anything more than a dry description of bandits dispatched_."

Blythe was uncomfortable, and she clasped at her arm. " _I... I don't know. Is it truly so important he doesn't know..?_ " she asked, obviously conflicted, looking off to Sothis whose face was mask-like and unreadable.

" _We must_ ," said Rhea firmly. " _We cannot allow the Slitherers to see our hand, and frankly, having even one more variable that knows of the Agarthans makes my plans thornier. Two would be unmanageable,_ " she said candidly.

"But I can speak no more of this, not yet,” she said, switching back into the common tongue. “You are dismissed, Blythe. But perhaps..." and once more, Rhea's eyes glimmered with what seemed like true vulnerability. "Perhaps I could invite you to tea, some day? I could tell you of your ancestors, of Zanado, if you wished," she said gently, in a way so much more delicate and fragile than the manufactured persona of the untouchable Archbishop.

Blythe pulled back with another nod. "I... I think I would like that. I will offer the suggestion to Byleth as well," she said gently. With a final nod, Blythe turned, slowly leaving Rhea's chambers, heels clicking.

Their meeting left her torn. A stone sat in her stomach, for lying to Byleth, and yet her heart sang for the family she never knew she had. What was she to do? She needed to think this through. The guilt already burned at her, to think of what she was planning but Rhea’s reasoning seemed sound even if she didn’t understand completely. She needed to protect Byleth, first and foremost. She turned to look at Sothis once more.

 _“And what do you think?”_ she asked gently. Sothis’s face was unreadable, mouth a hard line.

“ _She is one of my daughters. She is of my blood, and I know it to be true now. I… I cannot counsel you in these matters, Blythe. My heart is at war with itself as well,”_ she said dully.

 _“All we can do is our best. If I ever feel Byleth needs to know, I shall tell him,”_ she promised, the stone in her stomach growing a bit lighter, thankful Sothis would be willing to act as some small part of her conscience when she herself was so unsure.

Whatever the case, she had work to do, and a brother to avoid. At least for a while. 


	12. Page of Wands, Reversed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fun Blue Lions filler that isn't really filler.

Lectures in the Blue Lions classroom always tended to lean towards the serene.

The professor liked early mornings, and there wasn’t a day that he didn’t walk in perfectly manicured and refreshed with the faint scent of cedar and juniper wafting behind him.

It reminded Dimitri of home if he was waxing poetic, which seemed to be happening more and more often. . How bothersome. It wouldn’t do him well to daydream and get caught up in nostalgia as dangerous a path it was for him. He supposed he could blame the professor’s dulcet tones for this. His voice was subdued enough to warrant unwanted introspection yet even enough to demand the attention of anyone who listened.

Which, Dimitri realized, had not included him for a sizable amount of time, if how foreign the current lecture topic was from what he’d last written down in his notes.

“...This resulted in the invading army recruiting a military advisor from  amongst the native forces,” the professor continued as he paced up the center aisle, the heels of his boots making quiet ‘clats’ across the stone like a meter Dimitri’s mind was racing against to keep time. “Can anyone tell me why this was beneficial?”

Dimitri let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Ingrid behind him raised her hand. “Because that advisor knew how to deploy the Heavenly Gate Formation.”

“That is correct. I see you’re on top of your reading,” the professor said, Ingrid offering some modest rebuff or other before he continued on.

The Heavenly Gate Formation… Dimitri remembered distantly seeing a passage about it in one of the assigned materials some nights back. Good. This gave him an idea of where they were in the lecture. He could regain his footing.

“The Heavenly Gate of Seventy-two Motions, or the Heavenly Array, was one used by the emperor’s army when they faced an opposing army whose size merited its use,” the professor continued. “It had been used in prior battles against the invading forces, so having a commander experienced in native tactics was paramount, even vital.”

“Dimitri,” he called, making him snap his quill in surprise, “can you tell me how they made use of this knowledge?”

The young prince pushed his broken writing instrument to the side, using the moment to gather himself. “They… issued a challenge for the emperor’s army to break it in a hundred days or be forced to surrender for the dishonor.”

Then the professor’s brow softened, and he gave him a small smile. “Very good, Dimitri,” he said, ruffling his hair slightly before moving on.

Whatever came next, Dimitri didn’t know, the simple gesture having emptied his mind of any thoughts, helpful or otherwise.  The ghost of his palm burned on his skin, calling to be touched again .

Dimitri didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost by the time Felix’s voice cut through the din with all the grace of a mason lobbing a brick through a window.

“Well no wonder they didn’t last! They were set on defeating an enemy they had no hope of defeating,” he scoffed,  eyes rolling in his skull. “If you want to break through an invincible formation, then break their morale. Sever their supply lines, burn their food stores. No army can endure without provisions.”

“Astute observation. Maybe if he’d had you on their council,  he could’ve married you instead of a woman in the woods ,” Byleth praised, raising a chortle out of Sylvain that earned him a swift kick to the shin  from Felix who was sporting a thunderous scowl, a hissed rebuke making even Sylvain seem to wilt .

Looking at the sparseness of his notes, he couldn’t say he wasn’t worried for his studying later.

He’d ask Ingrid to borrow her notes, he decided as he packed up his things and made for the dining hall.

It was noisy as ever, and the food was something he remembered not being fond of as a child, but he supposed it mattered little at this point given his taste, or lack thereof, he supposed. 

Luckily, Ingrid had enough tact to stop commenting on this some time ago, perhaps enough for both her and Sylvain both, he hoped as he sat down at their table.

A mistake, he realized, as soon as he paid enough attention to what was coming out of Sylvain’s mouth.

“Listen, I’m just saying that older women have a certain appeal,” he said, his fork waving as he gesticulated. “You just know they have that… life experience that just sets them apart from people our age.”

Ingrid let out a labored sigh next to him, bringing down her utensils with a loud clamor that Sylvain should be experienced enough to recognize as a warning, though Dimitri knew that he would overlook it all the same.

“I don’t know which is worse, you blatantly advocating lusting after someone who wouldn’t give you the time of day or the idea that somewhere out there is a dissatisfied older woman desperate enough to consider you a viable option,” she said, turning to give him an accusatory look.

“It’s enough to make you lose your appetite either way,” Dimitri said, ignoring the way Sylvain was perhaps a touch too dramatically feigning his hurt.

“You wound me, Your Highness,” he said in a way that he wanted to seem a matter of fact rather than anything theatrical. “But you’ll say what you will, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do.”

“Fair enough,” Dimitri replied, turning his attention to Ingrid. “I’m afraid I must ask a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” she replied with a cautious sort of hesitancy.

“Probably a scary one from the sound of it,” Sylvain cut in. “Unless it’s about how to appeal to someone older. ...Actually, no, if he’s coming to you, that’s still frightening on its own,” he added, making Ingrid groan in the way one did when they didn’t have the energy to enforce better behavior.

“No, as a matter of fact, I just need to borrow her class notes,” he chided, taking to cutting his food in a way that spoke of years of etiquette lessons merited by someone set to inherit the throne despite the sheer number of porcelain casualties that haunted him still. “And actually,” he added with a certain level of  indignant authority in his voice, “it would serve you well not to speak so pruriently of a professor.”

A moment passed as Dimitri took a bite of quail before he realized it was unnaturally quiet, and he made the mistake of looking back over at the other side of the table where Sylvain sat, his eyes wide with something Dimitri was suddenly too anxious to name but knew was inherently dangerous.

“I didn’t say anything about a professor, Your Highness,” Sylvain said, tone level and gaze inscrutable, and Dimitri realized at once that his error had been made even before he’d made eye contact.

He’d fallen into a hole and  only just realized he was holding the spade.

“Ugh, you didn’t  _ need  _ to,” Ingrid groaned and smacked him upside the head, dispelling whatever hounding Dimitri had been sure was in store for him next. “Staring into the Golden Deer classroom leering at Professor Manuela was transparent enough for anyone who caught you like  _ I _ did.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” she said, turning back to Dimitri and giving a subtle sweep of her hand for him to go . “Here, you can borrow my notes for as long as you need. I’ll go make sure he remembers what propriety means.”

“O-Oh, no need,” Dimitri stuttered  with an understanding nod , struggling to pull his composure back by the tail. “I prefer to study somewhere quieter, in any case. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, getting up and turning on his heel  to make good of what Ingrid had given him .

He escaped into the tranquility of the reception hall, somehow with his dignity still intact. It was miraculous, really, as far as he was concerned, but even though he considered himself somewhat of a faithful man, he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, given Sylvain’s accusation, implied as it was.

Such thoughts would do him no good. They would only serve to distract him, he reminded himself as he took up a seat at a remote table. With any luck, he could revise here in the relative peace the hall provided.

And so, he opened the books and took to copying down what he needed, and for a time, the hall was filled only with the scratching of his spare quill and the occasional hushed whisper.

Dimitri had made his way through a few good pages when a sharp chortle rang out with all the force of a peal of thunder, causing him to blot ink across the page he was on in the wake of…  _ another  _ snapped quill.

His studying would have to wait, he realized with a sigh, gathering the detritus of another wasted writing implement as the disturbance behind him continued.

“Shhh! Not so loud, Annie!”

“I can’t help it, Mercie! The dessert is called— it’s—”

“Shh! Don’t say it out loud! It’s  _ inappropriate _ ,”  she hissed conspiratorially.

Ah. Dimitri knew who was behind him without looking, and it disappointed him to say he wasn’t surprised. He expected, well… more out of the Blue Lions, and it reflected poorly on him as house leader if they were received as being little more than rabble in an esteemed academy such as Garreg Mach.

“It’s called spotted di—” Annette started, cut off by another sharp  _ Shhh! _ and a hand, Dimitri presumed, having lost what little faith he had left in the decorum of his house.

“It’s short for an old word for pudding!”

“Then why don’t they call it spotted  _ pudding? _ ” Annette hissed.

Mercedes folded her hands in front of herself primly, allowing a demure sort of smile to befall her face. “Because it’s a traditional name for a folk food, and the Leisters are proud of their heritage.”

“Hm, if they’re so proud of it, then why won’t you let me say it out loud?” Annette posed, the deception in her voice apparent to even Dimitri.

“I just don’t think the professor would enjoy it as much as the last thing we baked for him if we told him what it was,” Mercedes responded, dodging the question.

Deftly so, with how Annette pouted, taking the bait. “He seemed to enjoy the tarts and shortbread we made him just fine.”

“Of course he did, because  _ we  _ made them,” Mercedes replied, the corners of her mouth beginning to upturn ever so slightly. “And because they weren’t called spotted dicks.”

“ _ Mercie! _ ” Annette shouted, voice reverberating in shock next to soft giggles.

“Perhaps we’ll make a simple flan instead,” she said, almost devilish in her dismissal Dimitri noted as he gathered his things with a sigh and made his exit.

He took a deep breath as he stepped out onto the colonnade that bisected the grounds and found his feet carrying him away from the academy proper. He wasn’t sure where, but  _ away  _ seemed like a generally good idea, as alluring the idea of distance was.

It might be the  _ only  _ option currently, he supposed. He would only get what he needed done through isolation.

He walked with purpose, making his way past the stables, his feet only slowing at the sound of almost musical laughter. He paused, daring to peek past the wall in all the ways he was told not to do as a person of a certain stature and feeling a bit devious in doing so, prying like he did with his childhood friends. It filled him with a giddy sort of nostalgia for a time when things were much simpler, before… Well, before the curtain had fallen and he’d seen the worst the world had to offer.

His heart softened on seeing Dedue and Ashe together ...with a cat. A cute little tabby with russet coloring and striking green eyes to whom, upon closer inspection, the two seemed to be giving food. That explained why they were absent from the dining hall, he mused with a hum, even if he didn’t see the benefit of forgoing a meal.

“Hm, I don’t think she enjoys the fish very much,” Ashe said as the cat pushed the saucer away with her little white paws and turned her back.

“She is a distinguished lady. Perhaps something more refined, like quail?” Dedue said.

“I sure hope so,” Ashe said. “She didn’t seem very interested in the beef or pork, but then again, I’ve never met a cat who was.”

“No, I think that might be something more suited for a dog,” Dedue agreed, spearing a few pieces of meat onto the plate with a small fork.

The cat’s ears flicked forward as she tentatively sniffed at the new food placed in front of her before her tail perked up and she began nibbling happily, purring all the while.

Ashe let out a warm laugh, which made Dedue smile in a way Dimitri didn’t recognize, though he’d by lying if he said it wasn’t a sight he’d wish to see more often.  Despite himself, he was gripped by sadness. As much as he cared for Dedue, his self-imposed duty as his ward was a wall between them he’d always wished to scale.

He sighed despite himself. Dedue was a good man, with a soft heart. He shouldn’t have to be involved with a brute such as him. He was glad Ashe had found him.

He would know the value of Dedue’s smile.

“Leave it to her to have expensive tastes,” Ashe said  fondly , giving the cat a scratch behind the ear. “I can only hope we can make something to suit a lady’s palate.”

“I know a few recipes she might enjoy,” Dedue said with a nod. “They’ve been enough for me, anyway.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Ashe said rather than asked, wringing his hands in some small way like a child who had been caught with their hand in the larder. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I’d be, but if you need another hand in the kitchen, I could try my luck as a sous-chef.”

And there was that smile again, the one that could bring spring’s thaw.

“I’d like that,” Dedue said softly, his voice level.

The two of them held each other’s gaze, not daring to break the contact and shatter the moment, ephemeral as it was. This was a good moment for Dimitri to take his leave, having intruded to begin with. Better to bow out now than stick around and wait for Dedue to realize he was away from his charge.

He left and continued on his way, set in his goal to find a quiet place.

The library was ideal, of course, but it was far, and he would not be the only person with such thinking. It would be full of students. No, it would be better to avoid such a place.

Hm. The Knights’ Hall would be empty with them all out on various assignments until later. There was also a smaller literary collection there, by no means as extensive as the library proper, but the selection was much more specialized, somewhat martial in nature to service the knights themselves in their holy endeavor. 

They would surely have volumes on military tactics somewhere on the shelves, not to mention a lounge in which to read them with a fireplace that would be tended by the serving staff in case of possible occupancy, which would provide a safe level of white noise and drown out his thoughts.

That was enough to convince him, he supposed as he made for the hall, all but striding into the doors.

He stopped in his tracks, though, when he saw the professor seated on one of the couches in front of the crackling fireplace, his belongings strewn about him in what seemed a frightening mess that he was sure had a system. 

There were books opened and laid out on the table, pages annotated and dog-eared with tabs sticking out of the sides or marked with random bits of cloth. Dimitri was sure he spotted a quill sandwiched in one of the tomes next to some parchment paper with notes scrawled on it.

If this was how the professor made lesson plans, he didn’t want to know what his room looked like when he was working. The classroom always seemed so orderly, his desk put together, and here he was surrounded by a distressing number of books and weapons of various materials and utility. 

Battered training weapons that they used at practice were littered about among iron and steel as well as oily rags the professor had probably used to service them. This was not a man Dimitri associated with clutter.

This was a man missing the forest for the trees.

This man, who was lost in thought, tapped his finger against his jaw, as he sketched a figure wielding a sword down and next to it jotted something in perfectly illegible cursive in his hand.

A calloused hand at that, Dimitri noted; he had never seen it ungloved.

Not until today, at least.

In the times Dimitri had seen the professor outside of class, he was usually in his typical attire, coat, armor, and all, so it was rare that he saw him in his training garb like he was now. He had to admit, though, that it wasn’t a bad sight; the shirt hugged his form and would allow him to move in a way where a sleeve would catch  in another outfit .

With the professor’s arms bare, Dimitri could see the ghosts of past battles littered across them. A white stripe on his bicep from a sword, a jagged serration along his neck from the wrong side of an axe, an old burn on his forearm from where he’d shielded himself from a mage’s fire. If he’d had any doubts about his professor’s experience before, they could be easily assuaged now. These were a seasoned warrior’s testaments.

He wondered how many bandits and raiders foolish enough to challenge him had been felled by those arms… 

Then, teal eyes met his.

“Dimitri,” the professor said, setting down his quill. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“I, um… I only just. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here,” he said, hoping that the professor wasn’t lying on his behalf. He wasn’t sure if he could take the embarrassment of having been caught, even if he were spared with the propriety he lacked. “If I may intrude a moment, Professor, I am wondering what you’re doing with… all of this,” he asked, gesturing around at the tightly-reigned entropy that had taken over the better part of the room.

The professor seemed to follow his hand as if only just taking it in. “Oh, this,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, somewhere around  his axe  scar. “I’m just making some lesson plans for the week, but I can take a moment if you have a question.”

“Oh, no, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Professor,” Dimitri apologised, beginning to turn away from him. “I’ll just excuse myself.”

“I can always make time for you, Dimitri,” the professor said coaxingly, making him stop, frozen mid-step. “Please, have a seat,”  he said, gesturing to a chair across from him.

He turned back around slowly, conscious of the heat that was beginning to spread across his cheeks and hoping beyond all hope that it didn’t show. He silently thanked whatever higher power that was listening that the two of them were there alone. Heavens knew an audience would leave him praying to be smote where he stood if his  encounter with Sylvain earlier had been a strong enough indicator.

And so he obeyed, finding a spot devoid of the clutter on an adjacent chaise. “Of course, Professor,” he said, his voice coming out soft. Perhaps too soft.

“Byleth.”

“Huh?” Dimitri said, forgetting every etiquette lesson he’d ever sat in.

“My name,” the professor clarified. “You can call me Byleth.”

Dimitri took a moment to taste the name in his mouth, his brow furrowing, only to have his voice catch. “I’m sorry, Professor, but to use your name would be improper of me as a student.”

The professor gave out a small hm as if holding his tongue, but he digressed. “Very well. Is there anything you needed help with?”

There were a few things Dimitri could name right off the bat, though he found himself not wanting to say any that Sylvain or his ilk would take out of context and misconstrue. He was, however, still compelled to be transparent. “If I’m being honest, Professor, I feel as though I’m not performing as well in class as I’d prefer.”

“In what way? You’ve done nothing but excel since I’ve been here,” the professor said, a slight crease forming at his brow.

“But at the mock battle, I—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” the professor said, cutting him off. There was something intense in his eyes that burned through him or somewhere beyond, but he felt it best to not push the envelope if he felt this strongly about it.

“It was mine,” he continued, shaking Dimitri out of the silence he hadn’t realized had settled.

“I’m… afraid I don’t understand. How could it have been yours when I was the one who couldn’t hold the line?”

“It’s my failure as an instructor if my students aren’t able to show what they’ve learned,” the professor said. “I’ve been absent as of late, and that’s not fair to you, to any of you.”

His eyes softened. “Dimitri, it is hard to see from the battlefield, a good strategist rarely uses flourishes, but my sister is a gifted warrior in her own right. She knew exactly how to trick the Lions into doing what she wanted, and you were no exception. To be outplayed by her is as great a shame as being outplayed by me, that is to say, not at all,” he offered with uncommon candor. The Professor, for being so clearly close to his sister, never spoke much about their relationship, never mind the fact that she taught in the room next to them. 

“Is that what… all of this is?” Dimitri asked, gesturing once more to his workspace.

“I need to make up for lost time.”

“Professor, you’ve done far more than anyone could ask of you already,” he said, uneasy. “I feel that I would be asking you too much to—” He cut himself off, knowing better than to finish his thought, though it seemed too late, as his professor’s unblinking eyes were on him.

“To what?” he echoed. “Too much to what?”

“It’s nothing, um… What have you been working on there?” Dimitri asked, hoping to trail his attention elsewhere.

“This? It’s a form I was preparing for class,” he said, brushing a lock of hair out of his face. Dimitri found it endearing that his professor, a decorated mercenary with a moniker as austere  and ominous as The Ashen Demon, had habits as childish as tucking his hair behind his ear, despite having a fairly strict poker face.

And then Dimitri felt his own voice getting ahead of him as he opened his mouth to say, “Show me.”

“It’s not finished, but… I suppose an advance lesson wouldn’t hurt,” his professor said, tossing him a practice lance that he almost fumbled to catch.

It was fortunate that the hall was outfitted with a small sparring ring, even if it was smaller than the one that serviced the Officers Academy. Though he figured the knights would never need a place to hold them all at once given the demanding nature of their job. The training grounds would be expected to house an entire class if the lecture called for it.

This was all that was needed for private tutoring.

Perhaps a one-on-one was all  _ he  _ needed.

“Take a stance,” the professor instructed once both of them were in the ring together, Dimitri complying a touch later than he’d like to admit.

It always struck Dimitri as odd that his professor seemed to be adept at wielding more than a few weapons available in an arsenal and still retain the skill of a master in each, but he supposed that being a mercenary by virtue of blood meant that he’d had the time to hone his martial skill while those like himself had been confined to lessons in etiquette and matters of the state. Their lots in life could not have been more different, he mused. Part of him was… more than a little envious, if he was honest. 

He wondered if he’d been born in a different social strata what his life would have been like, if what had happened those years ago would have happened to him or some other poor soul, if—

And then the glint of metal caught Dimitri’s eye, prompting him to bring his lance up a moment before the professor’s blade collided with him, instead hitting his lance and rattling his grip.

It startled him, the way he’d been able to swing a zweihander with the speed a lesser man wouldn’t have even been able to with a smaller sword. Had it been anyone else, Dimitri would have had ample time to produce an adequate defense.

In the next step, the professor was inside his guard, too close for him to fend off what came next.

He wondered as he looked into the eyes of his professor if this was how his enemies had felt in the face of his own strength, one last pang of terror before their faces froze in it.

Then he felt the lance fall from his off-hand as the professor kicked the spear tip into the ground with his other foot before ramming his shoulder into Dimitri’s sternum, sending him tumbling into the dirt. If this had been a true battle, that would have been the end of it, Dimitri left with the wind knocked out of him and a sword pointed at his throat.

The Professor had him at his mercy effortlessly, and he was too stunned to be bothered by how his heart pounded at the thought.

His professor extended a hand, bathed in light as motes drifted in the evening rays, to pull him up.

“In a real fight, it’s important to keep in mind the weapon your opponent is wielding,” he said. “Your stance was a good one, but not the correct one for what the situation called for.”

Dimitri nodded, surreptitiously dragging himself back into the moment. the professor taking it as a sign to continue. “At the mock battle, when you faced my sister, you held a stance that was better suited for another lance or going on the offensive, but not a sword.  Swords have the ability to push into your guard more effectively than almost any other weapon, so a defensive stance would have allowed you more survivability. Now, take up your stance again.”

It was reflexive the way he acquiesced, though it didn’t alarm him in the way he felt it should. He was vividly aware of the professor’s hands as he circled around him, lightly correcting his posture until he gave a final, resolute nod.

“Much better,” he said in that placid voice of his that calmed storms in him and started fires elsewhere.

“Ready?” he asked, Dimitri giving him a nod in return.

The professor came at him with the initial swing once more, and this time, Dimitri found he was in a better position to intercept it, pushing him back with the stock, putting more space between them thanks to the strength the Goddess saw to bless him with.

A second swing was met with a similar block, serving only to put distance between them. Dimitri caught on by the third, deciding to make use of the opening to take a lunge that made the professor dodge to the side,  footing weak enough to be  vulnerable to a swipe to the back of the knees, causing him to tumble to the ground.

Something in Dimitri changed in that moment, like a switch flipped from competitive to survival, and he aimed the blunt tip of the training spear in a downward thrust. The professor rolled to dodge once, twice, then thrice before throwing a handful of dust into the prince’s face.

He reared back, rubbing his eyes to regain his sight, but a sharp kick to his shin pushed his leg back and made him stumble, leaning on his spear for support. It was short-lived, though, as it was knocked out of his hands, letting him fall to the ground.

Dimitri turned over, but before he could get up, he was thrown back, Byleth atop him and pinning him down with the spear pressed to his neck.

The two stayed like that, mere inches from one another’s faces but neither moving, their chests heaving and eyes locked as sweat dripped from their brows.

Dimitri hadn’t won, no, but he had succeeded in a way that no one else at the academy had thusfar: He had made Byleth see him as a serious contender. There were rules of engagement those who made war were expected to adhere to, so one didn’t make use of dirt and sand unless they needed an edge. Though, etiquette and decorum have little use on a battlefield where one chivalrous mistake could lead to a grizzly end.

He wondered how many had met theirs at the hands of the Ashen Demon,  honor the difference between life and death . He wondered if any had been so desperate, if he could hear their ghosts.

The same way Dimitri heard his.

How he longed for them to be silenced, for his mind to go still, for Byleth to—

“I need to leave,” he said suddenly, the professor’s face colored by confusion as they got back up.

Dimitri dusted himself off awkwardly as he searched for his voice, which seemed to have risen in his throat and gotten stuck, something a cough into his fist did little to alleviate.

“Th-thank you for the lesson, Professor. I found it enlightening,” he said, rushed and offering a bow that he hoped hid his face before turning on his heel and leaving before he could see or hear the professor’s response.

He walked with purpose, if purpose could be so simply defined as getting away from a place as soon as possible. He could only hope it didn’t appear as though he was making an escape, but he couldn’t deny that may very well be what it was.

Maybe the baths would offer him some solace, quiet save for the sounds of running water and sizzling steam, and for once Dimitri was glad that the rinse showers ran cold with the water from the mountain streams. He let it wash over his face, feeling the heat that had taken him over fall away with the dirt.

Sylvain had been right, he admitted, ashamed of what that meant though resigned to it all the same. Not that anything would come of it. The professor was a mercenary, a commoner with a blood-soaked reputation, while Dimitri was the crown prince of a kingdom in need of stability that he would provide in the form of a queen and an heir, as was his wont.

As was his duty.

He sighed, drying himself off before donning a robe and entering the sauna where he would sweat out the impurity like one would when giving up the pipe.

The heat had never been kind to him, being from the frigid north, but this was necessary.

He saw his misery reflected in a black top knot, the only other person in the monastery willing to brave the steam.

“Six paces away, boar,” Felix said as he watched him enter, “or six feet under.”

Felix. At least he could handle Felix better than these feelings swirling around in his head.

“Of course,” Dimitri said, taking in a deep breath of perfumed air and recalling the scent of juniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix here with a PSA that will date this chapter and age with the grace of a Fox News patron.
> 
> But more importantly, I'll give you like a metaphorical crisp single if you can guess what Byleth is referencing in the lecture.
> 
> Also, we have a discord server! Come say hey:  
> https://discord.gg/YzeJJ7v


	13. A Massacre in the Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When training soldiers, it is wise to blood them early, but pitting father against son goes beyond the pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, welcome aboard the Pain Train, I am your conductor, both of your engineers, and also your executioner. 
> 
> Garreg Mach is already guilty of war crimes, but like killing civvies is a fun one to add onto that list.

In all the times he had been to Faerghus, Byleth was always taken by how blue it was.

It was relaxing, in a sense. Serene, even, for how the towering peaks reached up into the sky, into the clouds when they hung low, though he always imagined that they could even if they were higher.

Jeralt had never really taken him and Blythe past the foothills, especially if the first frost had already come to put the land to sleep, said he didn’t want to deal with fighting through the drifts. When summer leaves, war sleeps, or so the old adage went.

It was a sound enough reason, Byleth supposed. Winters were hard enough with resources needing to be managed tightly until the spring, and he and his sister tended to wilt in the cold, the two of them preferring to stay huddled together if there was no contract to carry out. Coin would provide more than enough motivation if it meant buying food and a warm bed.

Yet as they rode through mountains, he couldn’t help the feeling of awe.

These ranges had been around long before them and would persist long after. All of Faerghus’s history lay here. He could only wonder at what they had seen, at what had taken place in between the peaks.

They would stand tall over the Holy Kingdom and long after its fall.

All the stories he’d read or heard about the war that won Faerghus its independence made mention of them, integral as they were. The Empire had had numbers, funding, and prowess, but the narrow trails and steep slopes meant that they would have to travel slowly, trek precariously, and by the time they wore themselves out making it through the mountains meant they would be made short work of by the Faerghus forces or taken by the unforgiving winter therein.

Byleth could even recall an old drinking song he’d heard in a tavern, something that carried the cadence of a skald’s verse long since lost to history more than anything in the way that it felt more like a tale than something meant for a drunk to hold a tune to. It told the tale of a guerilla general who laid waste to an entire Adrestian battalion with only ten men and naught but a song that shook an entire winter’s bounty from the slopes.

Be it factual or a legend spun wildly out of proportion, he could regardless see the truth in how an avalanche could bury even the most well-equipped army alive in mere seconds. Looking up at the peaks, he could imagine the snow cascading down the sheer cliff faces and onto the warm red of the Imperial forces to become part of the winter until nature came to reclaim them in the thaw.

Grim for a tavern song, he supposed, but skalds told histories, merry or otherwise, of their people. And the people of Faerghus made up the land as much as it made them, standing tall and proud be they king or summit.

Though, looking at the path ahead, he wasn’t sure how much good height would do them. There was fog drifting down the slopes, and while it was breathtaking, he was no painter. This would be problematic for what they had been sent out here to do, even if it was only to supplement the Knights of Seiros in their task.

The whole assignment was enough to put him on edge. These were northern lands, and not all who responded to the holy call were suited to the thin air of the Kingdom. Nor would they be as acquainted with the terrain, Byleth reminded himself. Faerghus had found its freedom in the foothills, and the insurrectionists would have an advantage in the familiarity alone. And he highly doubted Rhea could have been bothered to give a prior enough warning on her sentence for an advance scout to be deployed.

He would keep his eyes to the ridges where the fog would allow.

If he was being honest, he didn’t know much about the church, much less this heretical Western branch and how it related to Garreg Mach, only that they were allegedly infidels, which was all that was needed for the Archbishop to sentence them to death with them trailing after the executioners.

Every troop, army or mercenary company alike, needed blades to ensure the job got done as much as it needed its throat-cutters. He supposed he should distance himself and view this as it was: a job. Nothing more. No use dwelling on the why if there was pay involved, even if it was a professor’s stipend for leading students to clean up after a butcher’s errand.

He would shake himself of this, even if it wasn’t with the same ease Blythe might.

He would  _ need  _ to if he was to set an example for his Lions.

Stealing a glance back at them, he noted that for the most part, they were quiet. Not silent, no, but their conversation was light and kept at a polite volume, the girls all talking amongst themselves about something or other, with interruptions from Sylvain kept to a minimum thanks to the spurs on Ingrid’s ankles, he imagined.

Byleth wondered why it worried him then that instead he found the boy’s eyes kept looking out towards the fog where his own had been before.

Even Felix had taken to chatting, with Ashe of all people, while Sylvain remained uncharacteristically subdued, offering much tamer, minimal responses only when addressed while he kept his eyes trained on the treeline.

He let his eyes flick to where Dimitri rode astride his horse next to him, blue eyes clouded over with something apprehensive as he stared forward, Dedue mirroring him. Byleth had had his suspicions before that the prince of Faerghus had seen combat — real combat — but nothing had given him as solid of a hunch as the way he pressed forward with an expression too grim for a mere conscript.

He couldn’t help but compare this to his time with the Eagles some time ago, where the ride out had been full of chatter about a lecture, free time, maybe a girl. Hell, it may have even been sunny for how his bias was coloring his memory. He wondered what was so different about these kids — his kids — that rendered them mum and wary. What had they seen?

What had  _ Dimitri  _ seen?

“This is Gaspard territory,” came a voice from somewhere behind him that Byleth belatedly registered as belonging to Ashe once he was jolted back into the present.

“I’m surprised you can tell that at all with this blasted fog,” Felix said, the compliment hidden in the bramble.

“Of course I can,” Ashe replied, chipper almost despite the air around them. “It’s typical for the valleys to get a little, um…”

“Bleak? Abysmal?”

“... _ Misty _ this time of year given how the rain makes it cooler,” he continued.

“Then it’s perfect cover for the insurrectionists,” Byleth said, cutting in. “Keep your guard up and listen for the sounds of a skirmish.”

A hush fell over the Lions like a pall after that, even the laughter from Annette and Mercedes dying down in favor of the sound of footfall and the wind that blew through the pines.

Byleth let out a sigh, pulling on the reins for his horse to stop which drew all eight pairs of eyes to him with varying degrees of surprise.

“I don’t mean to upset you — any of you — I just want you to be attentive of what’s going on around you,” he said, making sure to meet each of his Lions’ gazes. “I’ve seen more good men than I’d like meet injury or worse because of something that could have been prevented, and I don’t want to have to learn that lesson again. It’s not an easy one to learn, so please don’t put yourselves in a position where you have to.”

The quiet chorus of  _ of course _ ’s and  _ sorry, Professor _ ’s did little to assuage his worry, but it was something he felt he needed to voice. With any luck, they’d take it to heart.

“Who’s that out there?” came a voice from the fog, a figure emerging as it parted, revealing a woman clad in immaculate white armor and a broadsword that looked ...rather unique by Byleth’s standards, if he was being generous, what with the way it resembled bone while also vaguely pulsating in a way that he couldn’t tell was from the light it seemed to radiate or simply it wriggling, however unthinkable the latter could possibly be. Or so he hoped.

A radiant smile spread across her face as she loosened up, letting the sword fall to her side. “Hail at well met, students,” she said, nodding to them. “And the new professor, I presume? It’s good that you’re here. I was starting to get worried you’d gotten lost in all this. ...Or fallen down into a ravine, but no one likes to hear the grim stuff.”

“I knew we were to meet up with the Knights, but you didn’t tell us we’d be fighting alongside Catherine, wielder of Thunderbrand,” Dimitri said, perking up noticeably for the first time since they’d stepped foot into the mountains, and Byleth felt a small amount of relief escape his lungs with a breath.

“...What’s Thunderbrand?” he asked, blunt in his belatedness.

“Huh?” the woman, Catherine, said dumbly, her eyebrows arching. “You don’t know?”

Byleth shook his head, the woman taking it as a need for an explanation.

“My weapon, Thunderbrand, is one of the ten Heroes’ Relics,” she said, gesturing to her sword. “It’s an honor to wield, but there won’t really be a chance for it today. We’re here to clean up the aftermath with Lonato’s forces, not fight them.”

Ashe grimaced at that, his brow furrowing. “I…. I know we talked about this in the briefing, but… I still don’t understand why Lonato would incite such a reckless uprising.”

“You should know more about that than any of us, Ashe. He’s  _ your  _ father,” Catherine said, turning her attention to him.

“Well, I don’t,” he said, voice small but not quite indignant. “If he was planning any of this, he never told me.”

“It’s possible he didn’t want you caught up in it,” Dimitri said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It could be a personal vendetta and that he didn’t want you to wind up in the fallout.”

Ashe turned his eyes down, grinding the mud under the toe of his foot. “I’ve never known him to be anything but kind,” he said, a note of sadness tinging his words before he looked up again at somewhere in the middle distance. “Perhaps… it has something to do with Christophe.”

Catherine’s eyes darted away, falling on Dimitri before she averted her gaze a second time.

Byleth looked between the three of them, all of them clearly lost in some long-buried memory that none of them wanted to look upon.

“Who’s Christophe?” Byleth chanced, gently as if testing the ice on a frozen lake, not wanting to fall into the briny depths.

“He’s… he  _ was  _ my brother,” Ashe started, correcting himself. “Not by blood, but still my brother all the same thanks to Lonato. He never once made me feel like I didn’t belong even though I was adopted.”

The ghost of a smile rose and fell from his face. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard he’d been one of the people behind the, um… the Tragedy.”

“Hey, maybe we shouldn’t talk about the Tragedy with—” Catherine began, cut short by Dimitri.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t stop on my behalf,”  he volunteered hastily.

“I’m sorry, it just… seemed a little tone deaf is all,” she muttered, finding something out in the fog to capture her attention.

The Tragedy… Byleth remembered hearing something about it when he was a bit younger, some time after Jeralt had trusted him and Blythe enough to help out on contracts without heavy supervision. If it was the same Tragedy he was thinking of, the Tragedy of Duscur, he recalled that the royal line of Faerghus was almost ended by the hands of some extremists and that the death of the king called for the extermination of a people.

He hadn’t understood why the sins of a few had been used to punish the many when the king had also had political opponents named responsible, but he was just one voice, and not one with enough sway to bend the ears of the heads of state who had been eager to pin their agendas onto those who had played the game poorly enough to err in a way that stoked their xenophobic leanings. They wouldn’t ask him.

Though looking at Dimitri and Dedue next to him, he doubted they asked the sole survivor and future sovereign what he thought either.

“Lieutenant captain! The enemy is approaching!” rang out a voice from somewhere in the gray, bringing them all back to the situation at hand.

“What?! How?” Catherine barked back, brandishing Thunderbrand in trained preparation as the scout came into view.

“Their numbers are greater than what we predicted,” the knight said. “They used the fog to slip past the perimeter.”

“Shit,” she hissed, spitting at the ground before marching off. “I hope you and your students know how to use those weapons, Professor. We’re gonna need ‘em.”

Byleth nodded, turning back to his class, all eyes upon him once more.

“Alright, Lions, listen to me. We’re outnumbered in terrain that may be familiar to you, but don’t rest in that confidence because so does your opposition. Be mindful of the fog; it’ll cloud your sight and you might not see an enemy until they’re directly in striking range, so you might only have seconds to react. Stay close, and if you find yourself separated, try to find a friendly face and stay with them. Be cautious, but don’t be hesitant,” he said. “Now, steel yourselves and prepare.”

They all nodded, those among them who had them readying their weapons. Half of them were almost reluctant in their stances, but standing firm nonetheless. They weren’t ready, no, but they would have to be as the first combatants emerged from the mist.

Byleth stepped forward into the fray, sword in hand as he  cut off his opponent’s  initial strike, swiping at the man’s shins so that he fell and allowing him to drive his sword into his back in a way that had come from rote practice. A simple one-two.

It surprised him a fair amount that it had been so textbook, but a shout from his side left him without the time to dwell on it.

A strike with the pommel stopped the second man easily, leaving him open for the swipe at his neck. He staggered in his footing, gurgling as the blood filled his throat before he collapsed onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Behind him stood yet another man with wide eyes, his entire body shaking before something like fury struck like kindling, his knuckles turning as white as the bone underneath. He hefted his axe over his head and charged with a frantic battlecry.

A fatal error by any swordsman’s measure, leaving the chest unguarded. A simple shifting of his footing, and Byleth’s sword was buried in the man’s chest without so much as a thrust. And then the body went heavy with the weight death brought, driving it downward towards the guard with the snapping of sliced muscle.

A pity, Byleth thought as he shoved the man off his blade, the crimson of the wound seeping into the linen tunic. Decent armor would have stopped any of his strikes from reaching anything vital, and a proper weapon would have served him better than the woodcutter’s axe that lay next to him.

No, it could have served  _ all  _ of them better.

Byleth furrowed his brow. These were not trained soldiers, they were not an army gathered in the defense of an invaded homeland, they weren’t even criminals or rogues, but civilians roused up in revenge of sullied honor.

What kind of leader would build a militia and send them to stain a battlefield red?

...What kind of leader would send children to mete out punishment with the same indifference one would have when disposing of refuse?

They had sent lambs into a den of lions, and Byleth couldn’t tell one from the other.

He could feel the ire dictating his sword arm and rendering it inefficient, taking two strikes to fell an opponent where one would have sufficed. He would have to get angry later, when he could afford to, but for now, he would have to focus on getting his students through this.

Looking around, he realized that he was alone in the fog, and the dread that the anticipation wrought subjected him to more fear than if he had seen anything at all.

He pressed through the fog following the sounds of battle, laying low any soul foolish enough to approach him without bearing the mark of either knight or student until he came across the familiar shock of heather down on the ground with the glow of something sacrosanct holding back the blow of a militiaman’s poorly maintained blade.

“Lord Lonato doesn’t deserve the sadness and anger you’ve made him live through,” the man cried as Catherine pushed him back, the sound of clanging metal making Ashe flinch.

The poor kid. Out of all the students in the Blue Lion class, Ashe was among the softer of the lot. He had anticipated that combat would be difficult for him, but anyone in his situation would find it difficult. A loving father was not an easy opponent to face.

He jumped when Byleth approached him, but he took the hand his professor offered him to help him into his feet.

“Are you okay?” Byleth asked as he scanned the boy over, relieved to see nothing beyond a few scrapes and tears and looking a bit shaken.

Ashe nodded before the words came to him. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay,” he said and swallowed, flinching once more as the sound of Thunderbrand came down onto flesh.

“It was very fortunate I was there when I was,” Catherine said as she turned around, Byleth brushing some of the dirt off of Ashe’s arm and away from anything that it could infect. “Another second or two, and it could have been you. Why’d you freeze up?”

“I… I couldn’t,” Ashe said after a moment, nearly choking on his words. “I saw his face and knew him from the baker’s shop, and I just  _ couldn’t _ .”

Byleth met his eyes then, knowing this was the wrong time to drop a hard truth in front of him, but the right time had passed when they stepped over the border. “He wasn’t going to offer you the same courtesy, Ashe. Most of them won’t. And the ones that do will rescind it when they realize what’s at stake here.”

Ashe let his eyes fall to their feet. “I understand, Professor.”

“Good. You’ll need to,” he said, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze before heading back into the fray, Ashe at his side.

The next steps were just as rote as a training exercise with Byleth stopping a blow with his blade, throwing his opponent off balance, and finishing them off without so much as a thought. A simple one, two, and three with Ashe nocking arrows when he could as they followed after Catherine.

The sounds of fighting rang out all around them be it steel or the acrid tang of arcane lightning, which Byleth decided to take as comforting, as it meant that the other students were still well enough to fend off an attack and press on. So with every militiaman felled, it was one less danger that could threaten his Lions.

He’d cut down the whole army if it meant they’d be safe.

Somewhere beyond where he could see came the telltale thundering of war horses, and that told Byleth all he needed to know about the first wave. They had been little more than a distraction, bodies sent out to wear them down. But this was the tactic employed by a force of a smaller size or lesser quality; whoever commanded the militia had only numbers and surprise on his side.

Though he doubted his students had the endurance to match.

Byleth stood at the ready, taking a defensive stance to protect Ashe behind him while he and Catherine waited to see who would meet them.

A rather austere man strode out into the clearing, he and his mount decorated in the deep blues that denoted the Faerghus nobility.

“I should have known they would send you, Catherine,” he said as two more Kingdom knights rode in at his flank. “Though I must say, even in a sinner’s hands, Thunderbrand shines brightly enough even in this fog for a blind man to follow.”

“Ah, Lord Lonato. Still in good health despite your age. I’ll see it as a blessing that the Goddess gave you good enough eyesight to save us the time of seeking you out, then,” Catherine said with a laugh and a flourish of the blade.

“Hah! As though the Goddess would turn an eye upon those who follow a witch that sullies her name,” he spat, his gaze as steely as his armor until it fell upon Ashe where he stood behind Byleth.

His brow softened in a way that told of a weighty sadness, and when he spoke it was in a low voice one might hear a parent use to comfort a hurting child. “I was hoping I wouldn’t see you across battle lines like this, but these people have desecrated the Goddess and must be purged. So please, Ashe... stand down.”

Byleth grit his teeth, an uncommon rage overtaking him as eyes locked with Lonato’s.

“You’re the one declaring war while your son is in the other side’s care. You should be thankful to see him whole and safe instead of as a head in a box,” he spat contemptuously. “What sort of thoughtless buffoon are you to dare to ask things of your son when you were so clearly ready to let him die in Rhea’s hand for this doomed rebellion?” he hissed, arm crossing protectively over Ashe’s shoulders with his sword at the ready.

“Who are you to protect anyone when you waste your people’s lives like chaff against us? Untrained villagers against knights? It’s a slaughter in that fog, Lonato!” he barked, rage coursing through him.

Lonato stilled, but did not have the good grace to be cowed. “Your words mean nothing, interloper. Stand down, and I may let you live,” he stated, pointedly dodging his question, making Byleth scoff with disgust.

It was sickening. Did Lonato even know how likely Rhea was to kill Ashe in retribution? Did his own son’s life truly mean so little? For no other reason he was ready to put this fool of a man down.

He would be a better guardian to Ashe than Lonato ever was. Protective fury ran through him as he stood, teeth bared. The first person to step near any one of his Lions would get their throat ripped out.

Distantly, he remembered Catherine was nearby when she spoke up.

“The man’s right, Lonato. This ends now. Throw down your arms, for the sake of your people and let this end peacefully,” she ordered, Thunderbrand shining unnaturally in her hand. “Elsewise, we kill you like a dog.”

“Very well. If you have chosen to throw your lot in with that woman, then so be it,” Lonato said, readying his lance. “You will not be the first son I have lost to her.”

“Silence, cur! You’ve lost any right to refer to him as such!” hissed Byleth, furious, stepping forward menacingly.

If Lonato offered a retort, Byleth didn’t hear it, instead focusing on the man's lance as he advanced, deflecting it when it got close. He would have preferred wrenching it from his grasp, but he lacked the height that a horse would give him, but he was not as well-versed in mounted combat, preferring not to rely on the whims of what under all the conditioning was a skittish prey animal. For as much mobility as a good war mount could offer, it also created an exploitable weakness to the adept.

He would go for the legs, then.

As Lonato turned to face him again, Byleth dug his heels into the dirt to ready himself for the brunt of it.

Both of them stared each other down, in a momentary stand-off. There was no telling why Lonato didn’t charge; perhaps he was having second thoughts. Whatever the reason, though, the sound of Catherine at work jolted them from their reverie. 

Byleth spotted her tearing a rider from their saddle with a vicious thrust of her mysterious Thunderbrand, one of its teeth catching the rider and Catherine’s sheer brute strength tearing him off once it had caught. 

In two steps she pulled her sword out and rammed it through his skull as the terrified animal sprinted in terror now that its master reeked of blood.

Lonato took his chance, seeing the horse sprint. With a warcry of his own, he spurred his horse to action, lance at the ready, a triumphant grin on his face as a jolt of fear ran down his spine.

The horse was blocking one of his sides, stamping wildly. He could only dodge left and Lonato knew it and he would either skewer him or trample him under his destrier’s hooves.

His only hope was to parry, a ridiculous notion normally but the only option now. Carefully, he readied himself for the blow, preparing for the strike.

A bow string sang somewhere nearby, and Lonato’s blow never came. An arrow had run through his neck, and he fell out of his saddle, dying with each breath as his destrier ran free. 

Tracking the arrow, he turned his head. It had been Ashe, bow still held up and shaking, face bone white with horror as he realized just what he had done.

“I—I just… he was going to hit you, and I didn’t want you to…” he stammered, voice shaking and clearly on the brink of tears.   
  
“Ashe,” Byleth said soothingly. “It’s a battlefield. We do what we must.” He knew it was cold comfort, but there was not much he could possibly say. 

“You did what you had to to protect your comrade,” he continued uncertainly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to ground the archer. “Do not blame yourself for another’s actions,” he almost begged him, locking eyes with the terrified boy.

“It’s— He wouldn’t have— I wouldn’t be—” Ashe said, unable to break his stammer and choking on the beginnings of sentences his breath wouldn’t let him finish without catching. He swallowed hard as he met Byleth’s eyes. “I  _ killed  _ him. I—I killed my own father,”  he admitted with mounting despair.

And with that, the levees flooded, Byleth taking the boy into his arms, letting them both sink to the ground when Ashe’s legs gave way to the wracking sobs.

Around them, the fighting began to wind down, the insurgents disorganized without their leader to guide them, but as with the Red Canyon, there would be no survivors. The Archbishop did not take prisoners.

But she seemed perfectly content with creating self-made orphans, and Byleth would be naïve to believe she was unaware, no. She was coldly indifferent, she didn’t care who the casualties were in her purportedly holy crusade. And they had been the ones to levy out her sentence against those who Byleth couldn’t entirely say were wrong.

He may have been sent there because of Rhea, but he would be here for someone else.

He would stay here for as long as Ashe needed, even as his shoulder became drenched under the armor.

At length, the fog began to lift, the fighting finally having drawn to a close, and around them, Byleth could see what remained in the wake of the battle waged.

Corpses littered the field, some by a nearby river which Byleth knew would spell trouble for those living downstream. He wondered if the knights did their own cleanup or if Rhea would forbid them a burial and leave them for the ravens and vultures.

As much hurt as he’d caused Ashe, Byleth knew he’d want to give Lonato a proper burial. He was a good kid, even if his father had been willing to overlook him for a spectre. He hadn’t realized the treasure he had, or worse: taken him for granted. Either way, he’d paid for it dearly in iron, and Byleth hoped that trading one son for another had been worth it.

Even if he knew it wasn’t.

Slowly, some of his other Lions started to trickle into view. First Annette, who looked a bit shaken for how disheveled her braids were, one of them undone as a bright streak down over her epaulette. Following behind her were Mercedes and a very worried-looking Felix with Sylvain, arms over their shoulders to support a gash in his leg.

“Steady now,” came Mercedes’ voice, level if not a bit sober. “I only did enough to stop the bleeding, so it could open again if you’re not careful.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. It could be a lot worse honestly,” Sylvain said as they gently sat him down on the ground.

“All the more reason to be thoughtful then, dumbass,” Felix said, his subdued tone telling for the lack of venom and betraying his concern.

“Please, it’s gonna take a lot more than someone’s rusty sword to cut me down,” Sylvain retorted. “Would’ve been more dangerous in their grandfather’s hands for how bad the upkeep was.”

“It was enough to knock you off your horse!” Felix said, the volume in his voice rising. “You could’ve lost your leg,” he added, the  _ or worse _ hanging in the air after it.

“It was better than you taking the hit,” Sylvain said, looking away.

“For once, I agree,” came a new voice, this time Ingrid’s as she strode into view looking a bit battered, but nothing beyond the pale, a few scuffs and loose strands of hair the only signs she had been in a fight at all. Well, and a bloody lance. “Not everyone can tank a hit,” she continued. “Just say thank you and help make sure the one who did the striking doesn’t get a second opportunity.”

“I don’t need your input. I can take care of myself,” Felix bit, some of the venom returning to his voice. “Worry about yourselves for once.”

“I worry enough,” Annette mumbled.

“And I most of all, I think,” Mercedes said, turning to look over at Byleth where he sat. “Professor, are you hurt in any way?”

He shook his head.

“What about Ashe? He doesn’t look so…” Sylvain cut in, eyes trailing past them all before widening. “Ah, shit.”

“Is that…” Ingrid started, but stopped when Byleth motioned for her to before nodding in understanding. “Oh, Ashe… I’m so sorry.”

Ashe had since stopped weeping, but there were still stray tears falling from his eyes that he wiped away with his dirtied sleeves. “It’s… I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie, your eyes are red,” Felix said, earning him a sharp glare from Ingrid.

“I can’t promise I can make it  _ all  _ better, but I know the way to help a wounded heart is to be with the people who care for you,” Mercedes said with a soft smile on her face as she came to sit next to them.

She held out her arms, and for a moment, Ashe looked like he might begin to cry anew with how he sniffled and attempted a smile that came across as broken before he all but threw himself into the embrace.

And sure enough, the tears came again even if quietly, but so did the Lions, each of them offering some small gesture of comfort in their own ways. Even Felix hovered, though Byleth knew that he would deny this ever happened if pressed about it in the future.

A small smile crept its way across his face. Seeing them all together brought a gentle warmth to his chest where there had previously been a searing ire, and while it still wasn’t quelled, it heartened him to know that while it wouldn’t be the same, they would be alright. It would leave a scar, but this too would pass.

He would do anything for them. Anything.

Time passed. There would be no clean-up, decreed Catherine. When Catherine had stepped forward to examine Lonato’s corpse with the thoughtless efficiency of a hunter examining their kill, she quickly catalogued what he had on his person, pulling missives and papers and sifting through them with practiced efficiency that belied her appearance.

As the Lions soothed one another, Byleth watching over them carefully he could not help but notice the way Thunderbrand Catherine stiffened, obvious even from a distance in the failing light.   
  
“Okay troops! Mount up, this hole’s not our problem anymore!” she barked, in the same tone she’d used in the battle, steely and brooking no argument.   
  
“Eisner! C’mere,” she called, gesturing towards herself. Confused and cautious, he stepped away from his Lions who were looking nervously and gave a confident nod to soothe them.

“Look at this,” Catherine said bluntly, shoving a piece of paper into his hands. Confused he scanned over it.

Then he scanned over it again.

“This is an assassination order against the Archbishop. Why would Lonato have this on a battlefield?” he asked, baffled.   
  
“You’re missing the point, Eisner, we need to get back,  _ now,”  _ growled Catherine, eyes steely. “We need to prepare.”

“How? What are we preparing for?” he questioned. “There isn’t enough information here for us to go off of.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as Rhea is protected,” Catherine retorted with a quiet yet frantic desperation beneath her words. “Just… gather your class together and move out.”

“Right,” Byleth sighed, conceding the point upon seeing that his reasoning wouldn’t get them anywhere outside of a circle. He looked back over to his pride where they sat together. They would be just fine while he looked for the last two.

Byleth knew that at the very least Dedue would be wherever his ward was, and while he doubted a civilian militia small detachment of soldiers had been able to do much damage, there was still the worry of something more. He had seen the hint of something deeper on the journey in that gave him more cause for his concern, which only grew as he stepped across the dampened dell.

The air had grown muggy in the time the skirmish had come and gone, and it only served to make the stench that death brought so much more pungent. He could only imagine how the smell the carrion would make would waft into surrounding towns and settlements in the coming weeks. Summer always brought out the worst in war.

In the same way it brought coin. He had made a living on blood money, and now he was made to show children how to do the same.

“Professor,” said a deeper voice, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Dedue,” he replied, knowing who it was before even turning to face him.

“If I may impose,” Dedue began, holding himself upright as ever but with a slight sag to his shoulders that only served to give more cause to his concern, “I would ask that you speak with His Highness. I have no words to offer him that would not add to his burden, but he may be inclined to listen to you.”

Byleth nodded, knowing the gesture would be more than enough for the man, being of fewer words himself, though before he turned away, he would share a few regardless. “Ashe would appreciate a friend, if you find yourself back with the others.”

“...Understood,” he said after a pause before vanishing off in the direction of the other Lions, leaving him to it.

Byleth eventually found the prince sitting on a felled tree, alone save for a bloodied lance and the remains of those who had made it so. Dimitri made no effort to look up at him as he approached and took a seat next to him, only stared at the ground and the pools of red upon it.

A silence hung in the air around them, thick and somber as the fog had been before, but Byleth knew that there were times that called for quiet, the mind needing time to digest just as the body did after a meal. Dimitri would speak to him when he was ready, and Byleth would be there to listen.

The wind picked up ever so slightly, and Dimitri looked up and out at the field and the aftermath of it all. He swallowed, still not meeting Byleth’s eye, but at length, he spoke.

“This was my first time fighting… and killing civilians,” he said, his voice small and yet heavy in a way that only remorse could make it. “Those I’m sworn to protect…”

Byleth stayed quiet, giving Dimitri the space he needed as he continued. “I keep telling myself we could have found another way — should have found another way — to stop Lord Lonato from what he was doing, listened to him, heard what he had to say, and then maybe… maybe so many lives wouldn’t have been lost.”

He sagged his shoulders. “They were all fathers, sons, daughters… These were people with families and trades, not soldiers or knights who knew the risk of duty.”

“Dimitri,” Byleth said, resting a hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes to meet his. “Don’t blame yourself for the circumstance. It was neither their fault or yours that these people were roused for a cause their lord called them for without having them understand the risks. This was his fight, and he decided that their lives were worth the price of his honor.”

“Not only that, but he saw fit to send them into that fog against us half-trained and under-armed. He knew what he was doing, that he was sending them to their deaths if it were not you who struck them down it would have been a Knight, one of your classmates, because they were doomed from the beginning,” he continued, a hard strain of bitterness for Lonato coloring his words. “You are not to blame for the poor leadership of those on the other side.” 

“Professor, across the ages, kings and emperors have raised armies for what they believed were just causes, but… is it truly right to take any life you please all in service of some implacable ‘just’ cause?” Dimitri asked, almost pleading. “Lord Lonato didn’t call his people to arms in some ill-formed bid for power but because he believed his cause to be just.”

He let out a small, wry breath of a laugh that masked the miserable cry it was underneath. “Who’s to say he wasn’t right?”

“He didn’t afford you the opportunity to know,” Byleth said in an echo from what he had offered to another orphan before. “He didn’t afford it to you, and then he struck the first blow. You can’t reason with a man who has decided you are an enemy before even stepping into his presence,  Dimitri. He didn’t care if you knew his cause was just. He just wanted you dead. ”

“My mind understands that, but… I—I have to believe that,” he said with a nod, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. “Thank you, Professor. I think I’m ready to join everyone now.”

With that, they left, the Prince, the Lions, and their Professor all beginning their trek back through the blue Faerghus mountains to Garreg Mach, all changed in a fundamental way that Byleth couldn’t say for sure was for the better in anyone’s eyes save the Archbishop’s.

The way she entered his thoughts unwarranted made something ugly in him churn. He had been able to bury it for long enough to comfort his Lions when they desperately needed it, but having naught to do but stare at the path ahead as his mount’s hooves kicked at the stones beneath them made his mind idle. It brought what he had put on the back burner back up to a simmer and left him to stew in it.

He didn’t utter a word until they arrived at the monastery gates, dismissing the class without so many before making his way up to the second floor, walking tall and with a cold vitriol behind his eyes.

He knocked crisply on the door three times.    
  
“Enter,” came the melodic voice of the Archbishop.

He opened the door, struck by the smell of sandalwood which he was growing to loath. He stepped forward silently, offering nary a bow as he stared at Rhea, statuesque in her lizard-like observation of him.

“Professor Byleth,” she began with a gentle smile. “Welcome back from your mission. I trust everyone is well?” she asked politely.

“There were no physical casualties,” Byleth said, unable to keep the venom entirely out of his word choice and yet hoping she caught on to it all the same. He couldn’t help but taste ash on his tongue, but whether it was from his own temperament or the censers that decorated the hall he couldn’t say, though he imagined that one could feed the other.

Rhea’s smile did not change one whit. “I see,” she hummed. “So there was something alarming to be found there. What happened?” she asked neutrally, revealing nothing, the scent of sandalwood still strong in the room. She tilted her head curiously, awaiting his response. 

“My students had their mettle tested against an untrained militia,” he replied, crossing his arms in an unconscious display of contempt. “One comprised of their constituents, some of whom whose faces they could recognize and were forced to kill.” 

Rhea frowned at this, shaking her head. “An unfortunate state of events. I am sorry they had to live through such a trying experience,” she admitted sadly. “But it was necessary,” she followed up, steel in her voice. “Lonato rebelled against us. I’m sorry he felt it was acceptable to use his people so callously, but I could not predict such a thing. I had assumed he had a proper military organized, who would have given your students good front-line experience with Catherine to protect them. To hear such a thing…” she paused, her frown deepening.

“It is shameful. He deserved to die all the more for his cowardice,” she hissed. “I am sorry for your students. It was not my intent to put them through such a terrible trial.”

“No, what is shameful is that you saw it necessary to send a group of children into their own borders to kill their own people in a conflict that was  _ not  _ theirs,” Byleth hissed in turn. “This was a Church matter that should have been handled by the Church, not students who are here learning to make war in order to serve their respective lands. I understand that it’s important that they see combat early, but it was not necessary to have them take up arms against the very people they’re one day supposed to shield.” 

Rhea stilled at his words. The air smelled of brimstone properly, now. “What do you think this officer’s academy is for, Professor?” she asked neutrally, eyes dangerously cold.

“The goal of the academy is not, nor has it ever, been to make healthy, well-rounded individuals,” she began, pacing closer, walking around him with those frosted eyes. “It has been to make people who can kill and order others to their deaths,” she hissed, almost hatefully into Byleth’s ear, delicate fingers on his shoulder.

“I applaud your care for your students, but if you think I am sending them into unusual and cruel circumstances, then Jeralt has sheltered you,” she said bluntly. “Faerghus problems are dealt by Faerghan people, and your students are sworn to the Church. Lonato was a traitor who threw the lives of his people away for a doomed rebellion. I will not stand trial for his sins,” she continued.

She turned to look at him, slit eyes glimmering in the half-light. “I accept your horror, I accept your disgust. But do not think for a moment I send you or your children into these situations out of some demented desire to strengthen them.”

She sighed, a glimmer of sorrow appearing in her eyes. “I did not want this either, sweet Byleth,” she whispered, hollow. “Lonato forced this hand, and he is the one who had your children kill their countrymen. For that I am regretful, but I am not apologetic,” she said firmly, awaiting his response.

Byleth swat her arm off his shoulder in a way that he would have stayed his hand for in times when fire did not cloud his thoughts, but he would suffer his own petulance for the small amount of penance that it offered his ego. He tired of her performative anguish, tired of her false pity, but overall angered by her presumptive hold over the academy, over Faerghus, over Fódlan, and he understood.

He saw her, green and resplendent, but beneath it all stained a deep red, and she had taken no care to hide any of it.

Here was a dragon, and he was caught in the den.

Byleth dared to meet her gaze, leveling his dark eyes with hers, slit as they were. “They aren’t yours, Rhea,” he said, tone stable and exact. “They never were. But I hope there never comes a time where you are forced to learn this.”

He waited another moment, expecting her to lash out in retaliation for the slight, some part of him wary of her meting out some sort of disproportionate punishment that he had come to know as her wont.

But instead, something in Rhea’s eyes softened in a way that still felt inherently predatory, like a stray deciding to let loose a field mouse from its claws.

“Very well, Professor,” she said, stilted and controlled. “I thank you for your debriefing. You are dismissed.”

In that moment, Byleth felt lighter, as if something had released him from a tight grasp, and he drew breath, a deeper one for the first time since he had entered the stifling air.

He took an unconscious step back before straightening himself and turning on his heel to go. He realized now that everything he had said, every concern he’d held, had fallen on willfully deaf ears, and in doing so his time had, effectively, been wasted in even voicing them. The head did not care for the suffering of its limbs, and so the Archbishop did not care for the sacrifices of the faithful. No, worse, she expected it of them.

Jeralt, Byleth also realized now, had been more right than he had thought he could be. Rhea was a danger, and one that could not be suffered lightly. They both knew it now, and it would set precedent for all encounters from there on out, for good and ill.

Regret and its ilk would do little for him now, though. It had been done, and he couldn’t say he was sorry for it, even if he was likely worse off for it. But time would tell.

Rhea watched him leave silently, an unreadable look in her eyes.

And as the doors to the audience chamber closed behind him, he still carried with him the taste of cinders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	14. Abyss and Hresvelg Blend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard finds something suspect. Like a good house leader, she tells her professor.

As was Edelgard's way, she was awake before dawn. The curtains were drawn as she silently slipped out of her sweeping bed robe, quickly replaced by her uniform. Undergarments, tights, shorts, shirt and coat, and, of course, her gloves. She pulled the crisp white things on and carefully did up her buttons, hiding any scrap of skin before seating herself to brush, braid and style her hair.

She stared at herself in the mirror, pale and exhausted. It had taken her a long time to see this version of Edelgard as herself. She remembered a time where she had looked into a mirror for the first time after a nightmare and no longer saw the child therein. She didn’t know who this ghost with the white hair was, she’d thought as she took up a pair of scissors. She was meant to have _brown_ hair. She snipped carefully at an uneven white bang.

The final touches were her ribbons. She stared at herself in the mirror then, carefully dabbing at the sleepless circles under her eyes with foundation, rendering them invisible to others. None needed to know of her midnight terrors. Though every morning she had the same shameful realization that Teacher knew her secret which had her setting her jaw.

Next were her notes. Of course she finished them already the night before, but review was important to ensure she memorized all of Teacher's points and observations.

It didn't help that she was practically useless in the classroom itself. Teacher was so striking when she spoke, so clear and concise, eyes sharp, posture dignified.

In her practical lessons it was like watching a gale in human form, her weapon always somehow finding its point or edge against them, slipping past their defenses effortlessly. She'd slip past axes, swords, lances and spells to grip her students like a lover, sword at their throat.

The first time she had defeated her in a spar, arm wrapped around her, sword against her throat she'd blushed bright red and frantically fallen back to get ahold of herself, heart racing for reasons unrelated to exertion.

Edelgard stared at her tight, elegant script, finding herself reading the same line over and over but not understanding. All she could think about was Teacher.

How she'd kissed her, over and over that one night, at their feast. She couldn't count the number of times she'd revisited that memory in her bed, desperate to relive it. It would be so easy.

She was so kind to her, so open, in her quiet, understated way. It killed her to hide things from her. To hide the Emperor, to hide her plans, to hide how much she wanted to take what she was offering...

They had already spoken so much, on so many topics after class. About Teacher's life before the Monastery, about her goals and desires and much more.

They were so humble. She didn't want anything, she just wanted to be safe, for her father and brother to be safe, and it broke her heart to know her plans would put that at risk, likely throwing them into the front lines.

Another sin to lay on her back, another crime to answer for.

She shook her head, closing her notes. This wasn't working. Perhaps she should take a walk and clear her head before Hubert woke up.

So, she wandered in the almost-dawn, the waning moon's light guiding her as she meandered through the grounds, from the courtyard to the fishing pond, the greenhouse to the officer's academy. It was a soothing walk, until she neared the saunas.

She tensed when she saw it; a hooded figure, leaning casually against a wall in the alley between the saunas and the dorm. Instantly suspicious, she pressed herself down against a bush, observing him distrustfully.

She'd wandered around at this hour often enough to know this wasn't normal, so she watched him. Ten minutes passed, both of them sitting still, waiting for something to happen.

What she hadn't expected however was for Teacher's brother to be the one to end the stalemate.

He stepped out of his room dressed as ever, clearly well-kempt as he stepped towards the hooded figure, approaching him casually and without fear.

Edelgard grit her teeth, wishing she were close enough to hear what they were saying, but unable to take the risk. Without fanfare the both of them stepped out, trailed by Edelgard a cautious distance away. 

Mercifully they moved directly; within a few minutes she'd figured out where they were headed, carefully maneuvering her way towards the graveyard, the only reasonable place for such a bizarre, clandestine meeting to make sense. Where else, after all? The green house, the monastery proper? This was the only option, no one went to the graveyard but those who wished to speak to the few dead interred therein.

She cheered her good luck when she managed to hide herself on the stones above the graveyard itself, watching the pair place themselves near her hiding place. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them here.

"You sure about this, Professor? Last chance to back out," the hooded figure teased, sounding surprisingly young.

"Spare me. Can we do this, please? I have class in two hours," he responded, deadpan but for the vein of annoyance her time with Teacher had taught her to recognize.

"Ooh, feisty~! Remind me not to get on your bad side," the figure mocked, before the sound of stone grinding against stone echoed quietly around them. She dared a quick glance over the edge of the graveyard to confirm her suspicions.

There was a hidden passage opening into the side of the monastery, eerie light emanating from the opening they both stared down into.

"Well, Professor, someone's got to say it: welcome to Abyss," the figure stated, losing its good cheer.

The sound of footsteps echoed around her, and then the sound of stone on stone once more. When she chanced a look again, she could see the passage was gone.

Edelgard stood up, wiping the dust and debris off her knees and elbows with a sigh.

Well, she would certainly have a lot to tell Teacher come their after-lecture tea.

In a daze, she slowly made her way back to the dormitory, sitting exhausted on one of the benches outside and fighting the urge to massage her eyes.

She hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, and today was looking to be punitive. She'd make some stronger tea later on.

"Good morning, Lady Edelgard," said Hubert, appearing from nowhere as was his custom and making her jolt in her seat.

"Hubert! Ah. Hello," she managed, hand at her chest. Hubert tried to hide it, but she knew one of his small pleasures was catching her unawares.

"Hello, my lady. Can I do anything for you this morning?" he asked, as sweetly as he ever did, preening at making her jolt as he rarely could anymore.

"Yes, actually. I forgot my books, could you fetch them? They're just on my desk," she ordered politely.

"Of course, Lady Edelgard," he said with his customary bow, silently moving to do as he was asked. 

She fought the urge to sigh. And now, she must put on another of her masks, far more insidious than the Flame Emperor's: that of a guileless student, too corrupted by Church doctrine to question crests, the church or anything else. She stood, back straight.

"May I carry your books, Lady Edelgard?" asked Hubert politely. She felt bad allowing it, but it seemed to please him. He was like a sweet puppy that way, eager to please.

And ready to die at her whim.

She did not clench her fists, she did not grit her teeth.

But she hated. She _hated_ this world that allowed people like Hubert to put themselves at the mercy of monsters like her who could and would send him to his death if it served their purposes, served _her_ purposes.

She entered the classroom, taking her seat as Hubert placed her books on her desk.

Slowly, the Eagles began to funnel in, one after another wiping sleep from their eyes. She was saved from Ferdinand's customary antics by Hubert distracting him, which managed to last until Teacher arrived, mussed and stunning as always. She doubted she so much as brushed her hair in the morning, and yet somehow she always looked perfect.

"Good morning, class," she greeted as she placed her texts on the desk. "Today is Wednesday, and you know what that means: History and strategy," she said without inflection.

Edelgard could already feel her attention waning in favor of just watching Teacher move. Her quill moved, words appeared, but whatever was being said was completely lost to the simple sight of her Teacher. Her firm, confident motions, her dancer's grace...

And oh how she could dance... she was thankful she had her own tent that night in Zanado.

It was at this moment Teacher woke her from her reverie by tapping a pencil to her forehead, glimmering eyes staring at her, face far too close, her dazed blush lighting aflame properly.

"Ah, good. Welcome back Edelgard. Perhaps you can stay in my good graces if you can answer this question," she teased gently as she circled her desk.

"In your reading, what did the Morfis horselord do when his emissary was returned to him in pieces?" 

Edelgard blinked. Oh, drat, she knew this, she knew this...

"He sent their emissary back unharmed and then completely leveled the city that disrespected him, diverting a river over the foundations to remove any trace it had existed," she stated, thankful she could drag that out of her poor study session last night. 

And then Teacher graced her with that rarest of prizes, a stunning smile, eyes crinkling just for her. "Very good, Edelgard. I see now you're distracted because you were up studying, which I can forgive," she teased once more, hand ruffling her hair.

Oh, Goddess, but it felt good. It lasted but a moment, but the feel of Teacher's hand in her hair was incredible. Without even realizing it, she closed her eyes, blushing as she gave a soft squeak. 

The moment she realized what she did, she sank into her seat nervously, Dorothea looking at her from across the room with a cat's grin. Oh, no...

"So why would I waste your time with such a story? We already knew the horselord was strong and terrible. Any ideas?" Teacher asked, looking across the room. She pointed to one of the raised hands.

"Caspar. Thoughts?"

"Cuz it isn't right to kill the messenger! It breaks the laws of warfare, and if even the horselord understood that then we can all take after his example!" He all but cheered, so certain was he of his answer. Teacher couldn't help but smile at his antics, and neither could she. Caspar was a good kid.

"That's definitely the crux, but I'm going to ask around for some other answers. Dorothea!" she cried, pointing dramatically at the songstress.

"Because his revenge wasn't about making him seem strong, it was about erasing his enemies. People would be scared of him if there were ruins and such wherever he went, and even if he was a warrior, he fought to unite the clans of Morfis. So, he erased them. Those who knew the story knew he was strong, but they knew it was because he respected rules and laws, too. It was a punishment for breaking the rules they all agreed to," Dorothea explained expertly.

Teacher nodded. "Very good answer, Dorothea. It's important to always remember that warfare is caused by other desires. Unification, pacification, territorial disputes... while there have been many warlords who were vicious for the sake of it, it's important to remember the messages one's answers give off, and a good tactician knows how to take advantage of that," she lectured, pacing through the rows. 

"One of the basic facts of war is there are agreed-upon laws to the brutal business of it. War is not normally fought to the bitter end; skirmishes certainly, bandits for example care little for rules surrounding plague warfare or sparing prisoners of war because every battle for them is a life or death struggle if you and your soldiers are against them," she continued, hands clasped behind her back.

"But the wars you will be fighting? Most likely you will be proxies to nations, serving greater forces. In such situations, good faith is something that matters for negotiations. One cannot trust a liar if they offer terms, and one cannot trust a liar to be merciful, and that cuts both ways. Adhering to the laws of warfare, protecting noble prisoners, leaving civilians unharmed, these are the expectations we hold in war, because we want to make war an isolated occurrence, something that happens but does not destabilize whole regions, though it often does. More than that though, we want war to be something that can be ended with words, not steel."

"I am teaching you how to kill, and how to kill well so that you can do all you possibly can to avoid using it. The things that can be achieved via negotiation dwarf what the swordpoint offers,” she finished, clipping her heels together smartly.  
  
“That’s it for the lecture. Readings on the blackboard, see you tomorrow for practicals,” she said gently, giving them all a wave before they stood and began making their way.

Edelgard sat nervously in her seat. She really was an amazing speaker, for never having experience with public speaking, and she could tell that she was speaking from the heart, and took her role seriously in helping to train and mold them all. 

She felt how much Teacher cared for them all.

She gave Hubert a nod, quietly dismissing him as she always did for her talks with Teacher.

“Professor,” she called softly, stepping towards her desk as she locked eyes with her, smiling softly.

Oh, her eyes were such a mysterious shade… such a dark blue, with the subtlest suggestion of green…

“Edelgard,” Teacher answered softly, gesturing in front of her. “How can I help you today?” 

Edelgard ran a hand through her hair self-consciously. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to, ah… join me for tea! I have some news I need to share with you,” she said cheerily. “Of course, if you’re busy I could just —”  
  
“No, no, Edelgard, I’d love to,” she enthused, smile melting her heart. “Thank you for inviting me. I could use a bit of time off, and I can hardly think of more pleasant company,” she said softly, making Edelgard’s heart beat painfully in her chest. She had no idea how much longer she could resist her… maybe she should just let it happen—

No. She had to remain strong. She couldn’t hurt her sweet Teacher more than she had to.

But stars, it was hard. She wanted her, in so many ways. She was devastatingly attracted to her, but her skills... if she could get her to join her, she felt like they would be unstoppable. The Emperor and her warrior-bride. It was an intoxicating fantasy.

"Perhaps we could meet in the courtyard, a place a bit more private than usual..?" she asked cagily.

Teacher's eyes seemed to flicker, mouth parting in surprise. "I—that is, of course, Edelgard, whatever pleases you," she replied, her smile returning and seeming to positively glow.

Edelgard nodded shakily, returning a smile of her own. "Wonderful. I'll get us set up, and I'll send Hubert when it's ready, alright?" she said gently. 

She nodded.

From there it was a simple matter of returning to her dorm room, picking up her tea set and the Hresvelg blend she kept for when she was tired and preparing her favorite table in the courtyard, in a corner by two hedges, clear vision of all the entrances and exits. Hubert was off like a shot at her order, and soon returned with Teacher, stunning as ever. Without desks in the way she could properly appreciate her lovely tights, her strong, toned dancer's legs...

"P-Professor! Welcome, please have a seat," she urged, breaking herself from her trance, standing and gesturing to the seat opposite hers.

She slid into her seat soundlessly, Hubert excusing himself without being told. Was—when did she put on lipstick?

She had been prepared to begin the tea and ease into her information, but her entire mind juddered to a halt.

Teacher was wearing lipstick. She'd never seen that before, it looked incredible. A subtle, washed out red meant to bring out the poutiness of her lips, understated but gorgeous. Her lips looked luscious. Her lips looked—

"I understand you had some things you wanted to discuss with me, Edelgard..?" Teacher asked with a subtle lilt to her voice she didn't recognize. "I'm quite curious," she nearly purred, resting her head on her hand as she looked at her, forcing a red blush up her neck.

"I-I, well, yes, I had some information I thought you might be interested in hearing, is all," she managed to choke out. Only Teacher could make such a mess of her. Without even trying, no less.

Teacher said nothing, simply staring at her with luminous eyes over her teacup as she collected herself.

"I... well, I thought you should know, that..." Teacher’s gaze grew yet more intense, her body stilling so that not a single muscle so much as twitched, eyes wide and staring at her, lips parted.

"Professor Byleth is meeting a mysterious stranger in the night," she managed to say. Teacher's face seemed to freeze, cup clattering into its saucer and splashing tea against the table, face unreadable.

"I... I see. That is... the reason you wished to speak to me..?" she asked delicately, carefully ensuring she did not misunderstand.

"Yes. He met with a hooded figure, and together they went into a secret passage in the graveyard. They welcomed him into something called Abyss," she confirmed. "I did not think it proper to notify the Archbishop, as I trust you can confirm what precisely the nature of this meeting for yourself, seeing as he is your brother, and I'm to understand you two are close..." she rambled despite herself.

Teacher's face fell. "I... appreciate you coming to me with this information, Edelgard. Thank you," she mumbled, staring into her teacup sadly.

Poor Teacher; she must truly care for her brother. Before she could stop herself, she reached forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"It will be alright, my Teacher," she soothed. "Professor Byleth is a smart man. Whatever is happening, I'm sure he's not in danger," she tried to assuage. Her Teacher's face remained unmoved.

"It's not that, Edelgard. It's... nothing. I misunderstood," she said in a desolate tone she'd never heard before that made her heart freeze.

"I'm sorry, Edelgard, but I forgot that I had another responsibility I have to attend to. Thank you for the tea," she murmured, completely drained of her earlier energy.

"Wait!" She cried out, before she could stop herself, getting out of her chair with a scrap, grabbing at her arm.

"Wh—what is wrong, my Teacher?" she asked desperately, fearfully.

She hardly reacted, simply staring down at her gloved hand, movements lethargic as she gently removed it from her.

"I'd hoped it would have been obvious. More fool am I," she murmured, trying to disengage only for Edelgard to doggedly hold on.

"No! No, please tell me, my Teacher, this isn't like you," she begged. She didn't understand. She wanted to help.

She grit her teeth, eyes sharp and locking onto hers. "Do not play with my heart, Lady Hresvelg. I do not appreciate it," she hissed, breaking her hold finally with a snap of her arm. "Do not pretend you do not feel what there is between us, and do not mock me for wishing to pursue it. Landless commoner I may be, but I am not some plaything for you to drag around by a string," she growled in low tones, accent going jagged and sharp before she walked off swiftly.

Edelgard stood in the courtyard, alone save for her cooling tea.

She had made a terrible miscalculation, and she had no idea how she was going to put it to rights.

Looking down into the cup, violet eyes staring back, she wondered if she should. This would be a mercy in the long run, after all. Let her Teacher be hurt, let her hate her; it would make what would come later much easier. An Emperor was no person to treat like some delicate affair, let alone love.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt right now, though, and she struggled with allowing herself to feel the tenderness of the wound as her reflection wavered.

“Wooow… and I thought the Gautier kid was bad,” came a voice from behind her.

She spun on her foot, turning to find a familiar golden stole and an accompanying smirk that served as a portent of extortion.

It shook her more than she’d like to admit, not that the scene itself had been damning enough, but she had checked and double-checked the courtyard to ensure they would be alone, even going so far as to have Hubert keep his post. She had been so _careful_ , and yet here was an intruder.

“Tell me what it is you want, Claude,” she said, wasting no breath on niceties she didn’t have the energy for.

“Hello to you, too, Princess,” he said, resting his arms behind his head in a way that felt overly familiar for the company he was in, even if he would be the next Sovereign Duke.

“I know you didn’t come here just for idle chatter,” Edelgard bit back, hoping to regain some modicum of control over the situation she’d found herself in. “And I hate to repeat myself.”

“Easy, easy,” Claude said in the same cadence one would tell a child to hush. “I just so happened to hear something really interesting, and I’m curious is all.”

This piqued her interest enough past her caution for her to bend an ear. She had been inclined to believe the subject of blackmail would be all but said aloud, but his voice carried more of an inkling of an inquiring mind rather than an opportunist.

“What did you hear?” she asked warily, aiming for neutral in hopes that he would show his hand without having to check.

“I gotta say, Edie, I wanna know what you were up to to see Teach doing something dubious,” Claude said, beginning to pace as he talked with his hands. “I mean, you know the graveyard bit has gotta be the shakiest story out there. I mean, it’s just so cliché.”

“The most diligent of us rise early,” she said, doing her best to appear nonplussed. “Something you could benefit from, I’m certain.”

“Bold of you to assume I slept, but that’s besides the point,” he said casually as if he hadn’t just admitted to something suspect himself. Then he stopped. “Why follow him at all? I mean, up until two minutes ago, I thought you were more interested in his sister.”

“Excuse me?!” she shouted, perhaps too loudly for how he threw up his arms in a sort of performative surrender. “How dare you insinuate something so _base_ of me as having improper thoughts about a professor. How can you hope to lead the Alliance if you suggest of all those you encounter with impropriety? You would do well to break this habit of yours and cease your erroneous projecting; not all of those who suffer you share in your fantasies, so do you and your subjects a favor and do not implicate me in them. It was suspicious so I pursued, nothing more.”

“Okay, okay, you’re not into them, got it,” he said in an effort to pacify her. “Not why I’m here anyway.”

“If you aren’t here to ridicule me, then what is your intended purpose?” Edelgard pressed, crossing her arms as if that alone would restore her dignity lost.

“Don’t tell me you don’t wanna know what he’s up to down there, Edie,” he said, somehow still far too coy for her liking even in spite of the lecture she’d imparted.

And yet she admitted he was correct, however begrudgingly she did so. “...I can’t say I’m not curious.”

A wide grin spread across Claude’s face at this, and Edelgard couldn’t say if it made her feel better about her concession. “Aw, see? No harm in asking questions, especially when we have the means to get answers. Now, what do you say to some good, old-fashioned cooperation?” he said, holding out his hand.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure _what_ to say, only that taking his hand now felt like signing away some important agency she’d held for herself. Not that she hadn’t seen worse, and she doubted this Riegan boy could put her through any grief that could even compare.

“Very well,” she said, giving his hand a firm shake while maintaining an immaculate authoritarian gaze that would rattle a lesser man. “I hope you're no stranger to early mornings.”

“I can become better acquainted with them when the need arises,” he replied. “Let’s hope this won’t call for too many stakeouts at dawn.”

“We shouldn’t need many if my suspicions are correct,” she said, releasing his hand. “Farewell, Claude.”

“Later, Edelgard.” 

And with that, both of them left to tend to their other tasks for the day, a pact sealed for a promised meeting for another sunless morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued readership! Are you sick of the eavesdropping Garreg Mach denizen trope yet? :P
> 
> If you'd like to complain about this or other things, you can find us on our Discord! https://discord.gg/YzeJJ7v


	15. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to an altered Cindered Shadows, to be sprinkled liberally throughout the Academy Phase.

Claude knew better than to believe in luck.

Not in the sense that coincidences didn’t occasionally grace him, no, but that it was easier to manufacture them than to chalk up good fortune to providence. There were patterns and rhymes that one could pick up on if they only paid enough mind to pick up on them, and these motifs could be exploited.

Lady Luck had tunes she liked to hear, after all, just as anyone, and if you knew just the right notes, you could bend her whims to better serve you. How fortunate for him indeed that he knew just the chords to play.

He could easily go to bed at this normal hour and hope that some noise would stir him from his slumber while the sun was still below the horizon, he could hope to come across the Professor sneaking out while the monastery still slept, or he could sleep early to ensure he was rested and alert when an alarm of his own engineering woke him. His own hand was more reliable than a fickle woman’s, after all. He didn’t have to win his own favor.

So when the candle wick finally burnt low enough to dislodge the nail he’d embedded into it, sending it clattering into the metal tray he’d set beneath it, he was startled out of his dreams and ready for his feet to hit the floor.

He kept his clothes light, opting only to bring his stole to avoid potential questions, even if the shock of yellow was enough to pick out from across the field. Better than having some night post watchman shoot him from a parapet for mistaking him for an intruder, fluke shot or otherwise.

It also wasn’t luck that he found Edelgard dressed and ready, either, but a result of careful planning and her own schedule. Bets were always safer if you knew the factors that went into the outcome ...and manipulated them accordingly. His parents didn’t raise any stupid kids.

He wasn’t sure which one of them stood out more, though, him or the one with bright red and shining platinum hair, though honestly the austere way she carried herself felt louder than any dye could ever hope. But then again, he supposed that was just Adrestia in a nutshell: straight backs and rigid crimson all topped off with a forbidding scowl.

A stark contrast to up north, he supposed, where everyone wore genteel smiles even while freezing to death. Perhaps they were two sides of the same coin, rather, with how each masked what lay beneath.

Why they couldn’t let themselves loose with a deep belly laugh like the Leicesters was beyond him, but it wasn’t really his problem to deal with. Small mercies and all.

“Edelgard,” he greeted with a nonchalant wave. “Get enough rest? You look like you had a nightmare about running from a wyvern battalion.”

“I assure you my sleeping habits are none of your concern, Claude,” she replied, resting a hand on her hip in an attempt to look casual but instead reading to him as more aloof than anything. He supposed the future Emperor of Adrestia would be the guiltiest of all in the national pastime of trying entirely too hard to look even the slightest bit idle. Oh, well. They all had their vices.

He shrugged, opting to mirror her rather than alienate her, especially after he’d convinced her to escort him on an expedition of his own engineering. “Just some good-natured interest in your well-being,” he assured. “It’s in our best interests to be neighborly and all.”

She eyed him with what he could recognize as scrutiny, but with an undercurrent of something imperceptible. “...Very well,” she said before tactfully moving on to the task at hand, wasting no time. “We are burning moonlight as it were. We should take up position before Professor Byleth and his associate know they have a tail.”

“Lead the way, Your Majesty,” he said, resting his hands behind his head.

And with that, the two of them walked quietly through the grounds of the monastery as it slept, making the effort to be absolutely soundless as they passed the professors’ room so as not to disturb their mark. There was no sight of Professor Byleth’s mysterious cloaked guide, but there was no way to know if or when he might show up. This was, after all, still a gamble, even if it was an educated one.

“This is where I saw them vanish,” Edelgard said once they’d reached the cemetery, the two of them crouching behind the stones in a way that made Claude feel like he was smack in the middle of a mystery novel. Provided he wasn’t actually in one of Mercedes’ ghost stories, even if he’d only heard them by eavesdropping in on her and Alois’ conversations. It was always the nice ones who loved a good bone-chilling thriller. He’d have to ask her to tell one to Hilda if only to hear her scream. “They went in through an opening in the stones, right through the wall. I regret I didn’t see how.”

Claude followed her hand to see where she was pointing and squinted, trying to pick out any sort of switch or mechanism that would necessitate moving an entire stone wall somehow, something he was still skeptical about, if he was being honest, but a fortress nearing its thousandth year was bound to have some secrets. One as basic as a stone door shouldn’t be all that surprising.

“I suppose all we have to do then is wait,” Claude said, getting off his feet and resting back against the stones to relax while still taking care to ensure he wouldn’t be visible to anyone who would be looking.

“It’s all we  _ can  _ do,” Edelgard sighed, not bothering to even so much as shift out of her crouch. He wouldn’t push her to relax; habits were hard to break, especially ones as deep-seated and probably cultural as hers.

They waited there long enough that Claude started worrying that dawn might break, but at length, he heard the rumble of masonwork and machinery and looked up to see a figure with just a hint of violet under the hooded cloak they donned. They carried themselves in such a way that spoke of practiced footfall for how furtive they were despite an otherwise normal gait instead of hunching themselves over like a hunter in the brush.

“That was him,” Edelgard whispered. “Did you see how he opened the door?”

“No,” Claude said, almost absently. “But I don’t think we’d have been able to see from here since he came from the other side. We’ll wait for him to come back.”

One could credit their good luck for their first stakeout being a success, but Claude would deny it. He had banked on having to do this multiple times, perhaps at the detriment of permanently altering his sleep schedule, but the odds were in his favor in that they would succeed eventually. It just happened to turn out to be much sooner than expected. Luck had nothing to do with actual probability.

The figure did in fact return with the Professor in tow, and Claude made sure he paid enough attention to see how they activated the door mechanism — a small ring hidden behind the feet of a carving — before the two of them vanished back behind the stone.

“Wonder where that goes…” he mumbled aloud.

“The man the Professor was with said it was a place called ‘Abyss,’” Edelgard replied, standing up and passing over the graves towards the false wall, with him following behind.

Claude activated the switch just as he’d seen the man do, and just as before, the opening appeared.

He grinned and put his hands on his hips, satisfied with his accomplishment, before turning to Edelgard. “Well let’s go see what all this talk of Abyss is about.”

“And just what does ‘Abyss’ have that is of interest to you?” came a voice from behind them both that sounded accusatory for how sincere it was.

Claude knew who it was before he even turned around.  He bit back a groan, screwing his face into a genteel smile.

“Heeey, Dimitri, what’s up?” he asked casually, hands behind his head.

“I could ask you the same thing, Claude. And is that… Edelgard?” he uncrossed his arms, confused in earnest now. “What’s going on here?”   
  
“Nothing that would concern you, Dimitri. Though Claude does have a point. We know why we’re here, but what are  _ you  _ doing in a graveyard at night?” she asked from behind him, back straight, poker face in play only making her more suspicious-looking.

He frowned. “I’m beginning to think it may be the same thing you all are doing,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s not be cagey about this; we’re all behaving very suspiciously, but I think our goals align. You want to see what the Professor is up to, yes?” he asked, straightening to his full height. 

The boy wasn’t that tall yet, but with shoulders like that, he obviously still had growing to do, Claude mused. 

Claude sighed. “Yeah, you got us. Edie found a lead, and we’re about to track it down. Can we count on you being discreet?” he asked, hoping against hope that he had some stealth training in amongst everything else.

Dimitri nodded seriously. “I will not be found,” he promised. “It seems you have gotten further in your investigations than I. I only knew the Professor was meeting someone.”   
  
“Yup, By’s been meeting with a strange guy who’s been bringing him secretly into the bowels of the castle,” Claude supplied easily.   
  
“Maybe don’t call him that, Claude? He  _ is  _ still a professor,” objected Dimitri, making Claude quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,  _ that’s  _ the part you should be paying attention to, Dimitri. I’m sure you’re going to be a great addition to this stealth mission,” he said, deadpan, patting his arm and making Dimitri flinch quietly.

“Arguing is getting us nowhere,” Edelgard said at length, cutting them both short ahead of whatever they had been planning on saying next, something that Claude reluctantly agreed with her on. “The longer you two continue with this pointless banter, the further away the Professor and his associate get, and might I remind you that unlike the Professor,  _ we  _ are left without a guide.”

“A fair point, Edelgard. One I must concede to,” Dimitri said as he adjusted a strap on his gauntlet, which Claude assumed was a nervous tic of some variety or other. “We can’t say for certain what lies beyond this door, nor what lies within the corridor itself. I suppose it’s too small a window for us to go back and retrieve our effects.”

“I highly doubt we’ll need our weapons down there,” Edelgard said, naïvely, as if she knew for certain.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll be careful. Let’s just get on with it,” Claude said, hurrying them on into the passage, the two of them voicing their protests all the while.

They stopped yammering after a while, taking in their surroundings. The masonry here was old, fading into the bedrock of the mountain to the point that Claude wondered if they existed before Garreg Mach, wondered if Garreg Mach had always been a monastery. So much must have echoed in these walls, so much…

...So much  _ metal  _ echoed in these walls, was  _ currently  _ echoing in these walls.

“Dimitri, might I ask why you are in what I can only assume is full plate from the sound alone at an ungodly hour in the morning?” Claude asked.

“I wanted to be prepared!” Dimitri said, not unlike a child who had been scolded.

“Will you two be  _ quiet _ ,” Edelgard hissed, more a command than question. “We are trying to pursue someone  _ without  _ their knowledge.”

“You’re the one who wanted to bring him!” Claude said in return.

Dimitri crossed his arms and frowned. “Pardon you both, but I came because  _ I _ wanted to.”

“Oh? And why might that be?” Claude asked, mirroring him in turn.

The prince looked away then, somewhere to Claude’s left, and he saw how his grip tightened on at his elbows. He shifted his weight and swallowed ever so slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“It would rest ill on my conscience if I let you go alone and something had happened to you,” Dimitri said, and it was such a noble reason that if Claude wasn’t such a good read when it came to people he might have believed it. How unfortunate for the prince that his own actions all added together had spelled the fabrication out for him.

“Please, Dimitri, as if we were in need of your protection,” Edelgard said, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “We too are students at the officers’ academy learning to make war, so spare us your misplaced pity. We are more than capable of defending ourselves.”

It was almost funny really how she had taken the prince’s words at face value when Claude himself had been able to part the curtain and see past. Typical Edelgard. But he supposed that tact had a place, even every part of him wanted to call Dimitri out on his real reason, to watch him squirm and flounder.

Well, it was just as noble a reason as the one he gave. Defending his prospect’s honor was as princely as it got. Storybook, even.

It was cute, though part of him doubted that Byleth would be partial to something quite so tender-hearted, mercenary that he was. He likely preferred something more on the colorful side of things.

At least Claude believed. Or  _ wanted  _ to believe. Nothing more.

“I assure you I only had the best intentions at heart,” Dimitri continued, more to Edelgard than Claude himself, as the three of them walked into a large cavern. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were incapable. It wasn’t my intent to disrespect you in that way.”

“And yet here we are with a wrong still having been done,” Edelgard said, in such a way that Claude felt needed a tutt after, but Adrestia wasn’t a place that endorsed pettiness in refined company, where the fallout would have been the most entertaining. No fun at all. But knowing Adrestia, “fun” was likely a foreign idea that was outlawed after an annexation.

His mind returned to his surroundings, and looking around, he wasn’t sure what the next obvious path was. Nor could he discern the way the Professor and his guide had gone, having been thoroughly distracted by present company who seemed to be having just as rough a time as he was.

The catacombs, for lack of a better word, truly were ancient. Barely-worked stone, more caverns than passages. Dimitri was mystified, barely looking at the floor as he stared up into the unworked ceilings, seeming to try and get his bearings.

Edelgard, however, was watching like a hawk every time a path diverged. The signs of Byleth’s passing weren’t obvious on stone flooring, but between the three of them and careful attention they could see the signs of recent action.    
  
Carefully, they followed through the labyrinthine tunnels. The paths must have branched five times by the time they heard voices, something Claude once again attributed to chance and  _ not  _ providence.

He could also vaguely hear something echoing behind him, and he stopped to listen, the other two lords also pausing to look at him.

“What is it?” Dimitri asked.

“Hm… it’s nothing,” Claude replied. “Probably just our footsteps echoing.”

“It matters little. What we’re searching for is ahead,” Edelgard said, turning back around to find a large and rather imposing man standing in front of them, blocking their way forward.

Wide-eyed and blanched, she jumped back a bit, colliding with Dimitri with enough force that would have knocked a lesser man over and winded him.

“Well, well, look what fell down the, um… the well,” the man said, trying to make a clever quip and failing to make it sound intimidating, though honestly, Claude was certain the man’s chest and abs probably did all the talking for him in this regard. He never met a man who walked around shirtless who didn’t have the ability to back up the assertion of their right to. It usually also explained the sheer lack of mental fortitude to succeed in other areas, but he supposed no one could win them all.

It was hard to be smart  _ and  _ pretty, after all. Not that he was grandstanding or anything. Or at least not on purpose

“Easy, Baltie, I’d rather know who they are and why they’re down here before we do anything… brutal, I guess,” came a second voice from behind Claude, prompting him to spin around to see a woman with dark skin and unkempt hair. He mentally kicked himself for not having noticed her approach, but they were in it now, he guessed, for better or worse. Though he didn’t miss the threat she made under the veil, thin as it may be.

“Oh, but in the end, it matters not,” came yet another voice, this one loud and rather ostentatious for the surroundings, though Claude supposed he couldn’t rule out the possibility of a vampire. Not entirely, anyway. Though when this other woman stepped into the light, he felt it almost plausible for how pale her skin was, perhaps even bordering on the translucent if he squinted. “After all, they chose to encroach on a place under the protection of House Nuvelle,” she continued, finishing with an arpeggio of a laugh that reverberated through the catacombs and down corridors past his line of vision.

“Easy, Coco. We still need information,” the first woman said, and Claude felt at least a little grateful that she at least seemed open to reason.

“I assure you we mean no harm,” Dimitri began in a way that was about as predictable and safe as betting the sun would rise in the east, and yet somehow twice as reliable. “We were merely following our Prof—”

The rest of the sentence was lost in mumbles made into the palm of Claude’s hand. “Now, now, Dima, we don’t wanna bore them with extraneous details. They don’t wanna hear about the cat we’ve been chasing.”

“Seems more like a wild goose at this point,” Edelgard said, potentially making the first joke in all eighteen of her years on earth, and if their lives hadn’t been in danger, Claude felt he might have actually laughed at it. But now really wasn’t the time to congratulate her on her foray into standup comedy.

“A cat? Why would you chase it all the way down here? This is where things go when they don’t wanna be found,” the man who Claude doubted was given the name  _ Baltie  _ said, with all the confusion warranted by the curse of pulchritude. Or being hit too many times in the head while toning muscle.

“Indeed. Perhaps the cat should have been left well alone,” came one final voice, one that Claude recognized from a hushed exchange he hadn’t been able to parse before amidst the headstones above; and at long last, he had a face to match it with, one permeated by lavender. ...And the smuggest, most shit-eating grin that he’d ever seen resting there on his face.

Part of him wanted to wipe it off his face despite barely hearing a single sentence come out of his mouth. He really needed to shake this.

“You can’t fault us for being worried. We don’t want anything happening to the cat,” Claude said in an effort to placate himself while also deciding to test the water. He had talked himself down and out of worse, after all. This should be no different.

“Oh, I think your cat just might know what he’s doing,” he replied in a voice that almost felt demeaning beneath his level tone.

Claude could feel his grip on politesse and self-control slipping. “Look, can you just tell us where the damn cat is? We just have a few questions and then we’ll go back,” he all but spat.

“My, my, what testy kittens you keep, Professor,” he said, turning his head to where Byleth was now approaching, and Claude knew immediately that they’d been caught.

“Wait, so these are your students? How contrite,” the woman with the queenly laugh asked in a way that felt exaggeratedly haughty.

“Well, yeah, Coco, didn’t you see what they’re wearing? I mean, I know you never attended the Officers’ Academy, but you should be able to recognize the uniform considering where we are,” the one with the unkempt hair said.

“Just so,” the Professor stated in that quiet, understated voice of his that drew eyes to him like the muted gong of a distant clocktower as it rang out the hour. “I had hoped they would still be in bed and abiding by curfew,” he continued, crossing his arms in a way that honestly wounded his pride in the way that it spelled disappointment.

“Aye, Professor, you’re one to talk!” hissed Edelgard, a frankly surprising amount of venom in her voice. “You skulk at night, enter graveyard passages while there is an assassination plot underway and you expect us to take this in stride?” she asked incredulously.

“What better way to gain entry for such a plot than to turn to a Professor? How are we to trust anyone in this room!? Mysterious midnight rendezvous in one of the strongest fortresses in the land, oh, yes, never-us-mind.” She took a step forward, her small stature seeming bolstered by her righteous indignation.   
  
“I will not be talked down to, Professor, by you or anyone. I am the crown princess of the Adrestian Empire and the House of Hresvelg. By the stars  _ you will explain yourself. _ ”

Wow. Okay, he didn’t know where Edelgard had been hiding that away, but she was practically fuming, no small feat from the usually unflappable monarch in training. Maybe not phrase everyone here as enemies, but… she had a point. This didn’t look good. He crossed his arms in a gesture of support for Edelgard’s sentiment.

If the Professor was troubled by any of her accusations, it didn’t show. Then again, nothing ever did, really. The man’s default expression was a poker face that rarely had any alterations outside of minor shifts, and even those betrayed very little.

Not even his eyes wavered. They matched Edelgard’s in measures of severity, holding her gaze just as much as she held his, neither willing to break the stalemate nor be seen backing down. If anything, he appeared to be holding his tongue.

Edelgard gnashed her teeth viciously. “What would your sister think, I wonder?” she demanded, hateful.

What was Edelgard’s problem? Was she really this bothered by all of this? They hardly had the facts.   
  
“She’ll forgive you anything, and you  _ waste _ it,” she growled, looking more a feral cat than a princess. “You’re supposed to  _ protect _ her, not… go on midnight adventures! Have you no grasp of the stakes of what’s coming in the future!?” she asked, a tremulous undercurrent of desperation beneath her anger. 

“More than you seem to be willing to understand,” he replied, and Claude saw a flicker of something in his eyes that made him wonder if he was so impassable that he couldn’t recognize a simmer within the blue. “If you’re so convinced of my guilt that all you can do is hurl accusations, then perhaps I best stay away from Adrestia’s borders in the future.”

Claude’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead seemingly without his say-so if only from the shock of actually seeing Professor Byleth express an emotion, and anger at that. He supposed he should have guessed that it would have manifested as something cold and burning.

“But last I checked, we aren’t in Adrestia; we’re in Garreg Mach, and you are here as a student, which means that you are to answer to your professors, who the Archbishop entrusts to not only instruct but to  _ lead  _ you. You may be a princess in the Empire, but here you are expected to follow the instruction of those placed over you,” he continued. “This is so that the repercussions of any difficult decisions or mistakes that are made don’t fall on you but those with experience so that you can learn and  _ do  _ better when not in the sheltered environment of the Academy.”

You know, he’d expected to eventually be caught and perhaps almost getting hit by a sword and receive a lecture on the dangers of sneaking up on someone, but he hadn’t been prepared to be more or less struck in the face at the behest of Edelgard’s temper. Looking next to him, he saw that Dimitri hadn’t either, but at the same time it didn’t appear that this wasn’t anything he hadn’t already known for how dark his eyes seemed to be.

“You, uh… You still haven’t said why you’re here, though, Teach,” Claude said in an attempt to both change the subject while also redirecting the blame back to where it had reason to be. “Not to implicate you specifically, but we just wanna make sure that we have all the bases covered in case everything goes south.”

Byleth turned his eyes to him then, the cold spark not entirely gone but certainly dimmed now that the kindling had gone up in smoke. “...Very well. Some time after the Archbishop gave the professors our assignment briefing, I was made aware of a settlement beneath the monastery where people who have fallen out of favor with the Church are known to gather, and I sought to investigate,” he explained. “If the culprit was hiding among them, it seemed a likely place, and if not, then certainly someone here might know.”

Then he crossed his arms and looked each of them in the eye. “Does this suffice?”

Edelgard scoffed quietly, but did not suppress it, lavender eyes upraised balefully. “And why the midnight meetings? Surely your inquiries could just have easily been handled after class,” she asked, probably just to be petty.   
  
“Ignore her, Professor,” Claude assuaged, shushing the affronted heiress with a wave of his hand, which earned him a glare that would burn his hand if it were possible. “Okay, so you found this… place nobody knows about and investigated. Sure, makes sense.”

“It’s hard to find because we make it hard to find. We don’t want any trouble with the Knights,” said the purple irritation, cutting in before Byleth could answer. “And I would like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind. And while I do enjoy being thrown in front of the legion as it were, we should be going. We’ve made Aelfric wait long enough as is.”

“What about the kids?” the man who Claude very much wished would put a shirt on asked.

“At this point, it’s too late to take them back up top what with the night watch ending, so it looks like we’ll have to play sitter,” he replied.

“We are all adults, actually,” Dimitri offered, a bit too politely, even if not entirely correct. Wait, no, this actually warranted some attention: The prince was definitely not crowned yet, else he would be addressed as His Majesty by the entire Blue Lion house and anyone else with enough tact. Ergo, he was not of age. Had he just… had Dimitri just  _ lied?  _ And  _ believably? _ Claude supposed he had something else to mark on the calendar now, right next to Edelgard’s first joke.

“Yeah, not what I’m worried about. Just… stay together and don’t talk to anyone. I don’t need the Knights going after us or the Professor because three students vanished without a trace. One day is going to be difficult enough, I’m sure.”

“I swear we won’t do anything stupid,” Claude said with a wave of his hand, getting a single disbelieving hum in return that served only to sour his mood ever so slightly.

They traveled further into the labyrinthine catacombs, Claude putting forth an effort to memorize the turns they took with an accuracy he didn’t feel he was going to be able to swear by, but still an intelligent and decidedly  _ not  _ stupid thing to do, if not actually intelligent. He was a man of his word, after all. When he wanted to be, anyway. It depended on the other person, really.

Eventually, though, the path gave way to a place that looked more inhabited than the echoing caverns. There was more masonry around the walls, the stones more deliberately placed and propped up with the occasional beam, and later bolts of cloth that absorbed the sound.

This was an invisible place, he realized, as they eventually emerged into a small city, or the shadow of one, rather. Every large settlement had a quarter like this, a ghetto where things went to rot in the swill gathered by runoff. It was a place one averted their eyes from if they could afford it or look down onto with pity if they looked upon it too frequently. Claude had seen his fair share of them as he’d traveled across Fódlan and… Well, he was sure they were littered everywhere.

The people seemed forlorn, not from the muck and mire they lived in, but weary from what had caused them to fall so far that this was the type of place they landed. This was where people went when there was nowhere else for them to turn, the rock bottom from which people on their backs looked up from, the depths to which the light did not penetrate, the Abyss.

The others looked on with discomfort. Dimitri looked distinctly surprised by what he saw down here, and the state of Abyss’s “citizens.” Probably not a great surprise. Odds are, after Duscur he was watched closely and protected from the rabble most of his life. He wouldn’t be used to seeing shanty-towns of this nature.

Edelgard, though… it was like she was carved from stone. Her face was set in a delicate frown, gloved hands clenched and eyes sharp. He couldn’t get a bead on what was going through her head, particularly with how unpredictably she’d behaved just a bit ago.

He resolved to keep an eye on her.

They made their way past a collection of ramshackle stands that served as a market — and a rather lively one, at that, which surprised Claude somewhat even though it shouldn’t — and over a crystal clear canal that he imagined ran with the same cold water that fed the showers on the surface. Though it puzzled him how it appeared to be a fathomless void with no visible bottom that would swallow up anything — or anyone — unlucky enough to fall in. Hm, actually, that was enough staring at the water.

Yuri, as Claude had come to learn he was called, along with Balthus, Constance, and Hapi — whose name could not have been real, not that he was one to talk — led them all to what looked to be… a classroom? That seemed a bit anticlimactic for all the rockiness they’d dealt with in getting this far. He looked around nonetheless. For all the books and charts and other tools, it looked just about as messy and cluttered as his own room. Well, almost. It was hard to beat his own entropy.

Well, second place wasn’t half bad. Unless you subscribed to the mentality that it was just the first loser. Even if this contest wasn’t one anyone should want to win.

“Welcome to the Ashen Wolves classroom. I’d apologize for the mess, but you’ve seen the rest of Abyss. And I don’t get too many gentleman callers down here,” Yuri said, more to the Professor than any of the rest of them. Part of him believed that Yuri would rather pretend he and the others weren’t there, except maybe perhaps these “Wolves,” but the slight smirk he shot in Byleth’s direction dispelled any thought in favor of that. “Or at least none worth writing home about.”

Something about the comment itself crawled across Claude’s skin in a way he didn’t like, akin to the delicate steps of a scorpion across wind-swept sands but with a sting that burned him subtly inside his chest when he saw the Professor avert his gaze like a blushing debutant at his presentation.

He was hesitant to name what was beginning to spread from his chest, but he knew that he didn’t like it, didn’t like that Byleth was looking at Yuri when he could be...

“Now, now, we’re all pretty, it’s not a competition,” drawled Claude, doing his best to appear unimpressed. “So, to recap: weird shanty town inside of a mountain for nebulous refugee reasons, and now a weird classroom. Who are the Ashen Wolves?” he asked, turning a gleaming eye Byleth’s way. “You’re not two-timing Dimitri, are you Teach? ” he asked seriously, the prince all but floundering next to him in half-formed deflections that were frankly fooling no one. “He’d be devastated,” only a trace of sarcasm in his tone gave the tease away, hiding his annoyance behind a polite smile. “Because I’m not sure what exactly you’re showing us or why.”

He stretched, catlike, locking eyes with Yuri. “Though, the madam of the household has not been the best hostess to her lost cats. It’s not like we’re asking for a saucer of milk...”

Yuri chuckled contemptuously. “Entitled little kitty, aren’t you? Creeping in here uninvited, acting as if Abyss owes you anything,” he said sweetly, with a gaze that could cut granite.

The air around them could very well brew a storm with how it swirled dangerously between them, the acrid promise of lightning all but tangible.

And then, the look in Yuri’s eye went from incensed to catlike in the way one would toy with a mouse in its home. “You could do far worse than a reprimand from your instructor. I find… a father is much more heavy-handed.”

Claude narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t mean… no. There was no way. He hadn’t uttered a word about  _ that  _ to anyone, not even Hilda. This had to be a bluff. But this was a place of secrets, so he could have reasonably found someone who might have heard something or other or traveled and seen  _ something  _ else. Or even been turned out of the family.

Gah, he didn’t have any proof one way or the other. He’d simply have to pretend nothing had happened until he had something more.

“I think it would be in our best interests not to pursue such lines of thinking,” came a new voice — a man’s older timbre with an educated intonation — from the entrance of the classroom, and when Claude turned, he was faced with arguably the worst haircut he had ever seen, even worse than Lorenz’s, which was not something he previously thought possible. He supposed this was the future that awaited him if he didn’t find those gaudy bird scissors of his and hold them for a steep ransom.

“We are, after all, trying to improve Abyss’s relations with the Church,” the man continued. “I could see this house benefiting from a positive exchange not only from the Professor but with the other three house leaders as well.”

“Oh, Aelfric, you know I would never do anything to jeopardize all your hard work,” Yuri replied with a wave as if to mollify him, though Claude read it more as dismissing him and the knives they had pointed at each others’ throats. Something to address later, then, even if it wasn’t on his own terms.

“Indeed,” the man, Aelfric, replied. He turned his attention to the Professor. “I thank you for returning. This will be a long-term project, but I’m hoping that by helping Abyss and instructing the Wolves that you’re able to find what you need.”

There was something about his statement that made Claude wonder. Taking on a whole new class, even a smaller one, seemed a steep asking price for a single piece of information. No one smart would agree to those terms unless they were desperate. ...Or if there was a promise for more.

It got the gears in his mind turning. In his time at Garreg Mach, many mysteries about the Professors had given rise to a great many questions. Where were they from? Why did they not know their own age? Had they been mercenaries all their lives? Were they truly unaware of their father’s previous life? There were many more, but the one that struck him as most odd, if only because it had seemed so new.

There was a grave in the monastery’s cemetery that had the name Sitri Eisner.

He had seen Professor Byleth standing in front of it looking as confused as his face would allow as if the mere existence perplexed him. When he spoke of family, the only mentions were of his sister and Jeralt; a mother had never been in the picture. But everyone had one, they had to come from somewhere, so Claude understood the curiosity.

But there was a secrecy there that he felt might be beyond what people would be willing to tell even behind closed doors. It made sense to go somewhere where someone might want things to be hidden in order to find it.

And as luck would have it, he now knew just where to start looking.

He realized at some point that he hadn’t been listening to anything that had been said for… who knew how long. There was no sun down here to tell him how much time had passed. But people were standing up and gathering their affairs.

Somewhere in the corner of his eye, he was aware of Edelgard and Constance talking about… well, Constance seemed to be talking about her fallen House to someone who would be in the position to do something about it if she were so inclined, though Claude wasn’t sure how much she would be. Unless she had something on her or something, but Constance didn’t quite seem the type to resort to blackmail, if only for how… nonpresent she seemed to be.

Dimitri, too, seemed to be at the mercy of one of these Wolves, Hapi squinting her eyes at him as if trying to conjure a buried memory from some forgotten recess.

Even the Professor seemed to have something else on his mind, having stayed behind to speak with Aelfric on a topic Claude had his suspicions about.

He’d leave them to it, he supposed. It wasn’t any of his business, and he had some of his own to attend to. Business, that is. In their near man-handling earlier, he hadn’t gotten the chance to actually explore Abyss and what it had to offer. It had been with their best interests in mind to not have them wander, but Claude knew his way around a bazaar better than a sheltered prince or princess might.

They had a decent smith this far down, steep prices notwithstanding. Seemed a bit opportunistic to charge what he was, but he supposed that he could afford to without the competition.

The tavern sat in about as much squalor as he imagined it might and then some depending on what the black rot on some of the wood was. The ale was equally terrible, but the real enjoyment had been in the people-watching. In the few minutes he was there, he saw at least two shady exchanges and potentially a poisoning. Exciting in all the right ways for the wrongness of it all.

He ventured on, past all the market stalls to a corner of what constituted the main road that seemed more or less abandoned, even by the packs of stray cats that sat in small crowds together tucked away in the nooks and crannies between the citizens’ personal property, until he found himself alone save for a looming faceless statue hidden away in a forbidding sanctum.

He wondered its identity, its origin, its purpose. Was this something that accepted offerings? Did it listen to the whispered prayers of its unnamed patrons? What tribute did it grant?

“Didn’t think I would find you at the altar of all places.”

The voice shook Claude from his thoughts, and he turned to face Yuri, whose face carried the hint of something subtly threatening that put Claude on edge.

“Small world,” Yuri continued, circling him. “Must not be big enough for the both of us, eh Khalid?”

Claude’s face froze. He  _ had  _ known.

“How did you know?” he managed to get out, mustering enough control over himself not to stammer.

“Oh, I didn’t. Not until now,” Yuri replied, a venom dripping into his grin. “I just happened to remember some rumors I’d heard and took a gamble.”

Shit. He’d walked right into this game of cat’s cradle and gotten himself tangled. He could console himself and deflect the blame to the one who’d set up the strings, but he could have easily played stupid, pretended like he didn’t recognize the name. But with a single misstep, he’d undone all of the careful planning and scheming he’d set up for himself when he crossed the border.

But it had still happened despite it all, and now he had to answer for it.

“What do you want?” he asked, deeming manners beyond his own dignity.

“The crown prince of Almyra…” Yuri said, pausing in his circle to stand in front of him. “Seems like a pretty good friend to have, doesn’t it?”

Claude swallowed, not daring to break eye contact for fear of what would come when he wasn’t looking.

“So I’m thinking that I don’t let the powers that be in Fódlan learn that the kid in line to become next sovereign duke is also in line for the throne in an enemy state,” Yuri continued, “and every once in a while, you can help out a friend.”

“Like I have a choice,” Claude grumbled, wallowing in his sound defeat. “What now?”

Yuri walked back to the entrance of the shrine, looking back over his shoulder at the Almyran prince. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said before vanishing into the underground as soundlessly as he had appeared, though not entirely without a trace.

The promise hung there before him in the same way that a noose hung before a condemned man on the gallows

Claude knew better than to believe in luck, but it wasn’t because he knew the odds or the ins and outs of the gamble. He knew better because he would have to admit that, for all that he tried to change it, that he himself was unlucky.

And while to be confronted by the despair alone was enough to make him want to fold, he would simply have to continue to meet the call if he was to make the changes he intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! We have a discord!
> 
> https://discord.gg/qGfPFA6
> 
> Due to the nature of the fic, it is 18+, so be mindful that if you join, you agree that you are in fact an adult.  
> Hope to see you!


	16. Family Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe learns more about herself, and wounds are mended.

Blythe was not enjoying herself, as of late.

Her brother was undertaking mysterious late night rendezvous without telling her, she was in a childish spat with the woman she fancied which was her fault, and through it all she still had to grade papers sitting in this damnably uncomfortable chair.

She had no idea how Father did it all those years, doing the accounting for the mercenaries.

The only thing that seemed to remain a bright spot for her these days was Sothis, the young-yet-ancient spirit's verve for life lifting her spirits. Grades forgotten, Blythe watched as she floated lazily along the top shelf of the book case.

_“Oh, this one has different letter shapes than the others! It must be some advanced theory book. So, boring, then,” she said, cackling to herself. “The gold leaf on the spine means it’s probably a good one too…”_

It was a nicer thought than the childish brooding she'd been doing over the thought of the object of her affections.

She'd really messed things up. Ever since that... well, what she thought was a tea date went sour, things hadn't been the same. She no longer stayed after class, she barely responded when she patted her head, she no longer sweetly blushed and closed her eyes like a comfortable kitten.

It hurt her more than she wanted to admit, the way she missed all the small, forgettable things. She shook her head, trying to clear herself of that train of thought. She still had work to do, papers to grade, and... ugh, Linhardt's was next. His were so difficult to mark. He always got the right answers, but he so clearly didn't try. She wanted to push him to be more than just a narcoleptic bookworm, to drive him to his potential, but it was hard to even cut at his pride with a low score, and he clearly didn’t care about her comments on his work.

She was roused from her grumpy marking by Sothis.

 _“You look like you ate a rotten pear. Why don’t you take a walk, or something?”_ she suggested, floating by the window and staring out pensively.

Blythe perked up at that, marking forgotten. She had to admit, it did sound like a nice change of pace. She was so sick of marking, of being trapped inside while the world continued on despite her woes. Her students could wait another day.

She flipped her markbook closed, placing the homework into her desk and locking it with the key Cyril had given her so long ago.

Not even a season had gone by and yet the events that led her here felt like a lifetime ago. Had she truly spent so much of her life hidden away from the world with the same small band, killing and training? It seemed so surreal now, and yet her sword arm attested the truth.

Without further ado, she stood, beckoning for Sothis to join her as she walked past. 

The sun had brightened significantly since she'd entered her classroom. It had been a practical day, so she'd only returned to finish her marking, but she'd still been at it a good two hours. It was about noon, and the heat on her face soothed her immensely. She stood in the middle of the path dazedly, staring up at the sun with eyes closed.

Maybe when she settled down she'd move somewhere warmer. Or at least she could start marking in the garden.

 _"Hey, come on, you're blocking the path and people are coming,"_ nagged Sothis helpfully, ghostly hand grasping hers, the echo of a pull tugging her forward.

At least the gardens weren't too far from her classroom. She made her way at a sedate pace, no particular plan in mind but to perhaps smell some of the flowers that grew in the hedges.

She was in the midst of doing exactly that, curving into the hedges and letting the smells coil in her lungs. It seemed like this season’s blooms were even more fragrant than usual; she’d never smelled them quite so clearly before. Then again, she had never paid much mind to things she’d considered fragile and short-lived. She vaguely remembered a time when the mercenaries had stopped near a village that had been known for its gardens before the plague had swept the land. All that had been left of them was confined to withered vines and cracked stone.

Her brother had seemed a bit saddened by it, as much as he could emote, and used some word like “ephemeral,” and she’d rolled her eyes and said something ignorant about how senseless it was to be famous for something that lasted a week at most, something that stung her with regret now after having seen Zanado.

She was broken from her reverie by the sound of someone calling her name. Curiously, she turned, surprised to see a familiar face seated at one of the tables, tea set in front of her.

"Flayn, hello. It's been a while. What can I do for you?" she asked curiously, looking Flayn over. 

She looked much the same as ever, beautiful in her uniform, hair done in her immaculate coiffe, and with her usual warm smile in place.

" _Professor_ , _it's good to see you again_ !" she enthused, clapping her hands together. " _I've just received some exciting news, and I was wondering if perhaps you'd care to join me for tea?_ " she asked with barely concealed excitement in her voice.

Blythe bit back a wince. The last time she'd accepted a pretty girl's invitation to tea, things had not gone as planned, but she could hardly let that stop her. Flayn was a perfectly lovely woman, and, in some strange way, she supposed she was... family.

" _I don't see why not_ ," Blythe said, attempting a smile. " _I fear my work is serving only to drain me either way. A break would probably do me some good_."

Flayn clapped her hands once more. " _Oh, that's wonderful! I admit, you have surprised me, I was going to prepare the tea before I went to see if you were interested, but this is perfect!_ " she said, gesturing eagerly to the seat in front of her.

Flayn’s energy made her smile. Ah, to be so young. 

She shook her head, taking her seat. She may not know how old she was, but she couldn't be that much older than Flayn. She was being foolish. 

Blythe sighed happily once she sat down. It was a nice day, and it had been longer than she'd like to admit since she took the chance to simply enjoy the weather. Garreg Mach was quite beautiful, when one stopped to appreciate it.

She enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face more and more, and it seemed Flayn had no problem joining her in basking in it. It made her so relaxed she almost wanted to go to sleep there and then. She'd never felt so comfortable in the sun before.

She was roused from her cross-armed, eyes-closed relaxation by the musical sound of Flayn's voice.

“ _Are you still with us, professor?_ ” She inquired sweetly, tapping a spoon on the kettle.

She opened her eyes breathing a quick apology before helping her to set up the various accoutrements necessary to brew the tea.

“ _So my brother has been hinting he was planning a surprise for me, but he refuses to tell me what! It’s so frustrating,_ ” Flayn chattered amicably as she reached down into her bag of rea supplies.

In a move that she can't say surprised her, Flayn pulled out a small paper bag, which, once opened, released a crisp, distinctly fruity scent. Sweet Apple. She’d figured Flayn the type to have a sweet tooth and smiled to be proven right.

" _It smells good. From the market?_ " she inquired casually as Flayn prepared the diffuser while the water heated.

" _Mm-hm! They are a bit expensive, but they have all the teas you could ever want_ ," she supplied helpfully. Blythe snorted despite herself, knowing that Flayn would only want the one. "Bag of herbs, more expensive than a steel sword for some. I enjoy tea, but the prices some are willing to pay surprise me," she continued mildly.

" _Thank you for inviting me today, Flayn_ ," she offered a trifle nervously. She still didn’t know what the _news_ was.

Flayn simply smiled serenely, waiting patiently for the pot to be ready as she nibbled at a piece of bread crust. Not proper _patisseries_ , but Blythe was the last person to comment on such a thing, taking a piece of the fresh bread appreciatively.

" _It's my pleasure... cousin_ ," she said softly, barely above a whisper, making Blythe stop mid-bite only to be met by Flayn's soft smile. Calmly, she put down her bread, trying to keep herself composed.

" _So... you heard about that, then,_ " she murmured slowly.

Flayn nodded, smile unshakable as she quietly and carefully poured them their tea. “ _Just today, and I wasn’t supposed to. Don’t tell them,”_ she said with a conspiratorial wink.

" _When I found out, I could... hardly believe it,_ " she admitted, a note of delirious joy in her voice. " _I never, in a thousand years of life thought I would get to meet another one of us, let alone two_ ," she said softly. 

Blythe quirked a brow at her phrasing, but didn't comment on it.

She instead stared into her cup, observing the tiny fragments of leaf that invariably freed themselves from the infuser. There was a moment of silence that hung in the air between them in the lull.

". _..I never thought I would have anyone but Father and Byleth, either_ ," Blythe replied softly, sipping at her tea. " _I don't know what to do, I have to admit. I am... I want to know you all, know about our history, how we've survived, but I... am not skilled in such matters, of… being a part of a family, of learning things from the past.”_

Flayn reached forward, small hand on top of the clenched fist Blythe had kept on the table. 

" _It's okay,_ " she whispered, eyes so green and warm and alive, locked with her own. " _We'll be here for you. Always, as long as time allows_ ," she promised. " _Brother and Rhea and I will always care for you all. You are precious to us, precious to me_ ," she continued, voice so soft and kind.

Blythe looked down at her small, delicate hand, and felt her throat tightening, eyes stinging in a way she had never experienced before. Roughly, she scrubbed at her face with her off-hand taking a loud, deep breath through her nose. 

" _I would sooner protect you instead_ ," she said softly, words heavy with hidden meaning. The promise of care, of safety, it was all she knew to give, and Flayn stroked her gradually loosening hand gently.

In a surprisingly formal tone Flayn said, “ _Thank you for your offer of protection. We accept and cherish the feelings which prompt it,_ ” she said, quietly leaving her seat to wrap Blythe in a hug, nose nuzzling insistently into the crook of her neck.

Blythe sighed appreciatively, the feeling of being held so unique. Flayn felt nothing like Byleth, and obviously nothing like Father, but it felt so good, so different… she wrapped her arms around Flayn in turn, standing from her seat. She was the perfect height to keep nuzzling into her neck, the air between them going thick with a smell she didn’t recognize but too comfortable to mind.

It was only when she felt a low rumbling in her chest that she broke from her reverie, stepping back and breaking the hug, alarmed with herself.

What was _that_?

Blythe was only more confused when Flayn put her hands up to her mouth, failing to hide the wide smile and wider eyes of her tea companion.

“ _You purred for me,_ ” she gasped in amazement. “ _Oh, Blythe, I’m honored…_ ” she murmured, reaching forward to grab her hand once more. 

Nervously, Blythe pulled back, confused and bordering on alarmed. “ _I—I don’t… know what you’re talking about…_ ” she murmured uncertainly, looking at nothing and everything all at once.  
  
Flayn made a soft trill in response, a noise she’d never heard someone make causing something in the back of her head by her ears to twitch at the sound, nerves soothed infinitesimally, her attention fully on Flayn. “ _What—_ ” Blythe echoed once more

“ _Don’t be afraid, Blythe, it’s okay, I promise,_ ” she said earnestly, hands clutched to her chest, eyes sincere, a tremor of desperation in her voice. “ _We— people from that place— we are… we have some traits others don’t, please don’t be afraid, it’s perfectly natural,_ ” she tried to explain. “ _Certain things we do with one another, and not outsiders._ ”

“ _Like… what?”_ Blythe asked, blinking slowly in a way she felt must make her look a touch dense.

“ _Well, for starters_ _, we, ah, we purr, for one, when we are happy, and comfortable,_ ” she offered shyly. “ _We scent one another._ ” Flayn began to blush. “ _Which, I had been… doing, before you purred,_ ” she admitted, red-faced.

Blythe blinked dazedly, absorbing what she’d been told. “So… these feelings, around Rhea..?”  
  
“ _She was only trying to put you at ease, I’m sure, just, ah…_ ” Flayn paused a moment, biting at her thumb. _“She is… the most senior among us. Her scent is strongest, strong enough to affect humans, even if they can’t truly smell it._ _...Are you okay, Blythe?_ ”

Blythe was silent for a time, hugging herself in a foreign gesture she could not remember doing to soothe herself.

“ _This is… a lot,”_ she murmured, staring down at Flayn’s feet. “ _But… I want to understand_ ,” she continued softly, tea forgotten. 

Flayn’s smile took on a teasing glint. “ _I think I understand,_ ” she said mildly. “ _I will do all I can to teach you. Your brother, too, if it please him._ ” 

Blythe gave a jerky nod, still hugging herself and breathing in the last remnants of the scent… they… had made together. It smelled nice, like cut grass and ocean breeze, and it felt… so good to share that with someone who cared.

She wondered what Byleth would smell like to her, now, with whatever was happening to her. 

Flayn walked over to the table, finishing her cup in one swallow. Confused but amenable, Blythe moved forward to do the same, even if it had long since gone lukewarm.

Efficiently, Flayn put away her supplies, pouring the remainder of the tea into a bottle for later, gently tapping the infuser free of its herbs onto the grass, everything put away primly in its place.

“ _It may be wise to go somewhere a bit more private_ ,” Flayn said as she picked up the tea set. “ _We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea_ .”  
  
Blythe nodded. It would be awkward if people were to think they were an item, and equally if not more awkward to have to explain they were cousins bonding.

With no further conversation, Flayn beckoned her away, Blythe following at a polite distance. Soon they had made their way to the building which housed the offices and Rhea’s chambers, and paused.

Sothis had begun behaving strangely, and Blythe needed a moment to collect herself. She hadn’t said a word the entire meeting, something that hardly ever happened, and she looked at them with such a naked, vulnerable expression that she knew she’d need to speak to her as soon as she could, when the moment presented itself.

They were talking about her birthright too, after all. Did she remember these things? She gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod in Sothis’s direction, an unspoken promise to speak to her later. She did not respond, but she felt her message came through all the same. She turned back to Flayn.  
  
“ _We aren’t going to see Rhea, are we?_ ” she asked, a drop of nervousness cold in her chest.

Flayn laughed awkwardly at that, giving a dismissive wave. “ _No, no. At this hour she would be very busy, and Brother too! We are headed to my rooms,”_ she said cheerily as she pushed the doors open.

When Blythe entered the building once more, she truly tried to smell past the varnish and to the other scents that lingered. What she was recognizing as Flayn’s smell, clean and clear like an ocean breeze.

It was not like the smell of brimstone and cinders that Rhea smelled like, or even what she assumed her own scent was, the smell of grass and nature.

“ _Her scent really is… different. Like fire. She hides much of herself, doesn’t she?_ ”

Flayn gave an uncomfortable hum of assent, the question of _whom_ not needing to be voiced . “ _She… has sacrificed much, to keep us safe,”_ was all she said.

Before long they had reached a hallway bearing many doors reminiscent of the dorms, plaques on each. Seteth, Manuela, Jeritza… these must be the teacher’s quarters, where she and her brother would have been had circumstances perhaps been different.

And there it stood, an unassuming door bearing Flayn’s name.

Blythe stood awkwardly, feeling much younger than she was.

...She had never been invited into someone’s room. When she had her liaisons they would just go to the room she’d have had in the inn in the town they were staying, and Byleth would politely make himself scarce, or she would do the same for him, not that this was _that_ kind of invitation.

“... _You’re sure this is okay?”_ she whispered, voice weaker than she intended it to sound.

Flayn smiled. “ _Don’t be afraid, dear,_ ” she said, only to be interrupted by none other than Professor Hanneman.

“Oh, Miss Blythe! Miss Flayn! What a surprise seeing you here!” he said happily and a trifle too loudly for the hall they were in, stepping into their personal space and making Blythe instantly uncomfortable, hackles rising.  
  
“I apologize for bothering you ladies, I just had a small request for you, Miss Blythe,” he said politely.

Put somewhat more at ease, she waited patiently. “I have just recently finished some research I had been performing for your brother, so if you could ask him to come speak with me as soon as he can, it would be appreciated. It’s very exciting news, I’m sure he’ll be very pleased!” he said, grinning quite sincerely.

Blythe was confused, but, she supposed, pleased he was pleased. “I’ll tell him when I see him,” she confirmed in low tones.  
  
“Oh, but that reminds me!” he said, voice getting even louder, making both Flayn and Blythe wince. “I should bring you in to test you for a Crest as well! If your brother has such a momentous trait, then perhaps you as well —”  
  
“Perhaps another time, Professor Hanneman,” said Flayn politely yet with a hint of steel. Blythe had never heard her speak that way. Manners were a tool at her disposal, after all, and Flayn wielded them well .  
  
Hanneman had the good grace to look shamefaced, scratching at the back of his head in embarrassment. “Right, of course,” he continued, more subdued. “If Miss Blythe is interested, I’d love to introduce her to my field of study.”  
  
He gave her a polite nod, stepping back. “Regardless, I thank you both for your time, and wish you a good day!” he continued happily, walking back towards the staircase leading to his office. 

They both stood in silence in the hall, both trying to recall where they had been before the eccentric professor’s confusing interruption.

Her brother had been doing Crest research..? To what end? To hear Edelgard speak on the matter, Crests were a dangerous thing best left alone. First this “Abyss,” now this?

She didn’t want to admit it, but her brother was beginning to truly worry her. She would need to speak to him.

She returned to herself when she heard the creaking of hinges, Flayn gesturing for Blythe to walk in through the open door. She followed Flayn’s lead, taking off her shoes, even if she was a trifle confused as she took in her surroundings.

They were nice accomodations, quite a bit nicer than hers and Byleth’s, in fact. A fireplace, a small kitchenette, a large bed, a bathroom… she wouldn’t say she was jealous, but she was appreciative.

“ _You have a lovely home_ ,” she offered quietly.

“ _Thank you,_ ” came her melodic reply. Deftly, she hopped into the center of her bed, legs not even reaching any of the edges. On the deep blue covers, she looked like she was floating alone in an ocean.

“ _Join me?_ ” she asked gently, lightly patting a spot beside her on the duvet . “ _We can stop whenever you feel uncomfortable, alright?”_

Cautiously, she did as she was bid, crawling up onto the bed, knees only a few inches away from Flayn.

Blythe said nothing, watching Flayn cautiously as she slowly crawled forward, gently seating herself in Blythe’s lap and wrapping her arms around her. Still slowly, she nuzzled her nose into that same spot at the base of Blythe’s neck, breathing in the smell of her audibly.

“ _You smell wonderful, Blythe,”_ she said reassuringly, continuing to nuzzle. “ _Like earth and growing things,_ ” she whispered wistfully.

Blythe was as stiff as a rail, hands clenched nervously behind Flayn’s waist, trying desperately to process the feelings running through her. It was so different from anything else.

This wasn’t like with Edelgard, there was no heat in the pit of her stomach threatening to swallow her up. It was like… sunlight, blossoming in her chest, loosening her, her entire posture starting to sag, eyes blinking slowly at the feeling.

“ _Can… can I do you?”_ she asked, suddenly aware that she dearly wanted to smell her more clearly, memorize it, keep it in her heart, remember this feeling forever.

Flayn pulled back, her smile wide and open as she cocked her head to the side, fingers at a point near her collar.  
  
“ _All of us have them here, that’s the best place. There are smaller ones, but not everyone has them,”_ she explained calmly, before outstretching her arms, inviting her.

  
With an embarrassed blush on her face, Blythe leaned forward, delicately wrapping her arms around the smaller woman and leaning down to nuzzle into her collar.

It was a strange experience; every stroke of her nose over the spot rewarded her with another burst of that intoxicatingly clean scent, virgin ocean filling her lungs. She couldn’t help but sigh appreciatively, Flayn’s chest rumbling as hers had.

A wave of powerful fondness filled her at the sound, at knowing she was the one causing it. She nuzzled even more intensely, giving the spot a gentle kiss, making Flayn give a loud gasp.

Alarmed, she pulled her head back, but still held her. “ _I-I’m sorry! Should I not have done that?”_ she asked worriedly.

Flayn laughed softly. _“It is… a very intimate gesture, but not a bad one. I simply didn’t expect it; usually only close members of a pack would do such a thing,”_ she said gently, nuzzling back into her neck, Blythe visibly deflating at how her purring had stopped.

“ _Are… are we not?”_ she asked, feeling vulnerable. “ _I thought… we’re family, aren’t we? We’ll protect each other.”_

Flayn gave a soft hum as she held Blythe close, the feeling of sunlight slowly creeping back in after her nervous shock. “ _To be Pack is earned, Blythe. We are family. You have shown your dedication, and I know Rhea and Brother will accept you, but you are not truly Pack yet. Pack is different from Family,”_ she explained. 

Blythe nodded solemnly. “ _I understand,”_ she said softly, holding Flayn tight. She leaned down to nuzzle into her too, gently exerting pressure until they fell onto the bed, still holding each other tight.

Flayn made a pleased noise, gently rearranging herself so her hands were inside of Blythe’s coat, gently stroking her naked skin.

Now it was Blythe’s turn to purr once more, energy leaving her, lounging lazily in Flayn’s soft touches. She felt so safe.

“ _...This is really okay?_ ” she whispered softly into Flayn’s ear before nuzzling into her neck again. 

_“Don’t be afraid. This is normal, for us. Rhea does the same with me, or I with Brother, and they will do it with you, too. Maybe we could even have a big cuddle party some day,”_ she said, smile tingeing her words.

Blythe thought of it, for a moment. Rhea’s strong scent mixing with hers and Flayn’s, getting to find out what Seteth smelled like… it was a nice thought.

She lifted her head, staring up at the ceiling. All the same, she wasn’t sure Edelgard would see it the same way. Or anyone, really. She frowned.

“ _Oh, none of that, Blythe, we’re not thinking of sad things right now, okay?”_ she murmured, never looking up from her neck, eyes closed and more sleeping than anything.

Blythe’s eyebrows raised. _“How did you know what I was thinking?”_ she asked, no longer alarmed by the surprises Flayn held, merely curious.

“ _Your smell,”_ she explained simply. “ _When you get to know someone, even humans, you’ll learn to read their mood by their scent. Your scent got sour, less like earth and more like iron,”_ she explained.

 _“Oh,”_ she answered eloquently.

They sat in silence after that, the both of them lazily nuzzling one another, conversation spoken with eyes closed, both of them obviously relaxed, chest rumbling.

“ _Would Byleth like this?”_ she asked out of the blue, holding Flayn close. 

“ _You know him better than I do, Blythe,_ ” she hummed absent-mindedly, head nestled against her sternum and obviously hungry for heat. Blythe stared into the ceiling, thinking back to how Flayn looked, floating as if on an island on her huge bed.

It was like this was a brief respite from her problems, and one she really needed, too. Sitting on a lonely island, just relaxing with family like she hadn’t done in... who knew how long.

She wanted to see Byleth, tell him she loved him.

“ _Thank you for doing this with me, Flayn.”_

She trilled again softly, simply nuzzling closer. She looked off to the side, seeing Sothis standing nervously, hands grasping her elbows tightly. Without a word, she locked eyes with her and gestured for her to come to them.

She may have been a ghost, but that was all the more reason for her to join in without fear. 

She leapt over in record time, flopping onto them unceremoniously, a one-fanged smile on her face as she nuzzled them, the invisible energy of her presence sending tingles down her spine.

“ _You smell really good all of a sudden. Thinking of something nice?_ ” she asked, a strange waver to her voice. _“Familiar…”_ she murmured softly, still sleep-drunk.

Blythe didn’t respond, simply leveling a meaningful look Sothis’s way, surprised to see one of the warmest smiles she’d ever seen on the girl’s face.

She had been preparing to leave, but… maybe she could stay a little while longer.

Her decision was rewarded, as she began to hear the sound of Sothis’s chest rumbling mightily, belying her small frame. Of _course_ the chieftain would have the strongest purr, she mused with a smile.

She let herself drift a while longer, seeing that the sun was setting through the window before she made the regrettable decision to wriggle out of their hold.  
  
“ _This has been wonderful, but… I should probably be going…”_ she said regretfully as she stood up, Flayn pouting at the loss of her heat source.

“ _Of course, I understand. Thank you for entertaining my eccentricities,_ ” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“ _None of that, Flayn,_ ” she said firmly. _“You’ve taught me more about myself in a day than I’ve learned ever, aside from when Rhea told me about… us,”_ she said awkwardly. “ _Please don’t be awkward around me. I really, truly liked this. I want to share it again, if you want,”_ she said shyly, surprised at her own bravery. “Maybe next time Byleth could join us, even.”

She’d never shared Byleth with anyone before, in any way, never mind like that. They had always been together as kids, piled over one another while they snoozed away, but they had been alone together. To open their insular circle to another seemed radical in itself, even heretical.

But the way Flayn’s eyes glimmered, and how she gave only a slow nod seemed to suggest that Flayn understood the power of her statement, though. She stood still, watching her as she moved, putting her shoes back on.

With a final soft goodbye, she closed the door behind her, beginning to walk… home, she supposed. To see Byleth.

As wonderful as her time with Flayn had been, it only left her even more starkly aware of the position she had found herself in with her brother. She had to fix it, somehow.

She would show him what she had learned, and maybe he would open up to her. 

She could only hope, her resolve strengthening as she stepped confidently through the sunset paths leading back to her room — their room — where she hoped Byleth would be.

She unlocked the door, pleased to find him at his desk, writing something or other amidst the scribbles and sketches she knew he felt he needed, as if he would forget even a single of his myriad thoughts if the pen so much as stopped.  
  
“ _Brother,”_ she said softly, warmly, quite unlike her typical greeting. He turned an eye to her, uncertainty coloring his expression in the face of the unfamiliar.

Heedless of his silence, she took off her shoes, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the back of his chair, nuzzling her nose into the spot Flayn had shown her, holding him gently.  
  
“ _I miss you, By,”_ she said softly, hesitantly, and perhaps a bit sadly . _“We have both been so busy. Even now I’m to tell you Hanneman finished the research you were involved in.”_

She continued to nuzzle softly, pleased to feel his scent strengthening. Now that she was paying attention, she was pleased at how… dark, mysterious his scent was, like the world after it rained, with a strong vein of juniper inside it.

Byleth made a sound she’d never heard before, a shuddery little groan that pleased her to hear. “ _Can your work wait?_ ” she asked gently, holding him close.

“... _I suppose,”_ he said uncertainly, obviously off-balance.

Wordlessly, she stepped back, reaching for the sheets on the bottom bunk, tossing them onto By’s on top. And with a simple jump, she landed on top of his bunk, kicking her feet over the edge, smiling invitingly towards him, a huge mass of blanket next to her.

“ _Join me? If you want to stop, you just have to say so,”_ she said, echoing Flayn’s words from before. 

She was trying to play it calmly, but it had been a long time since she’d been so nervous in her brother’s presence. Even if he told her nothing, all she truly wanted was for the rift between them to heal, if only a bit. She felt empty without him, too tied up in her other concerns.

She’d forgotten the people who mattered.

If she’d been less aware of it, she might have felt hurt by the way his eyes were narrowed and his lip pursed in that slight way of his, but she couldn’t fault him for the suspicion. She had to admit that the way she was carrying herself was odd for them, but a part of her felt it shouldn’t be.

“...It’s been a while since we’ve had a pillow fort,” he said in a cautious neutral tone he reserved for the inscrutable, but the way he closed his journal with finality and kicked off his boots told Blythe that he was giving her a chance.

It hurt her that it had come to that. She sat quietly, watching him with expectant eyes as he jumped up onto the bunk with her, the bed giving an unhappy creak at the unexpected weight. Part of her worried that the books holding up the legs would give and allow the two of them to tumble to the floor amidst the debris as punishment for their haste and hubris. Perhaps they should request actual bunks.

...Or perhaps they could do away with the second bed entirely, as unlikely as that would be. Oh, well. Blythe would indulge in some wishful thinking every now and then, even if she’d had more than her fair share already.

Byleth looked at her, that hurtful, questioning look in his eye still. “...So?” he asked, in that tone of curiosity that implied she was on thin ice.

She took a deep breath, and opened her arms, grabbing two ends of her blanket. “ _Could you come here, please?”_ she asked softly.

Byleth frowned. “Why are you talking like that? No one’s here but us, not even Sothis,” he pointed out.

She stiffened, as if slapped. 

“It’s… it’s ours, though… it’s our tongue…” she murmured, a shakiness to her voice that was becoming surprisingly common of late.

Byleth seemed to realize his gaff, backstepping. “I-I mean, there’s nothing _wrong_ with it, it’s just… isn’t it strange?”

Blythe shook her head firmly. " _It’s ours,”_ she said again with conviction. _“Now come here. I have missed you, and I am tired of dancing around whatever is between us. Let me hold you, like we used to,”_ she said seriously, her resolve returning to her.

He looked up into her eyes, face softening. Wordlessly, he crawled forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and she around his, wrapping them in the blanket and pushing them onto the pillow.

She said nothing at first, merely holding him and gently nuzzling at that spot she had been nuzzling at before, making him wriggle nervously at the new feeling.

“ _Why are you doing that?”_ he asked, the apprehension of what had gotten into his sister still present in his questioning . He had of course felt the tension between them — he _had_ to have — but he would reach out to her and help stop the breach of trust between them from exacerbating.

“ _You like it, don’t you?_ ” she murmured, breath tickling his neck. _“When I do this, I can smell you. You smell good,”_ she clarified.

 _“I… don’t think I smell any different,_ ” he murmured as if being prodded into behaving, and yet he shifted into it nonetheless, making some small fracture in Blythe’s heart feel like it might just heal.

She allowed herself a small smile there pressed against his neck where the tips of his hair ghosted against her lashes.

“ _Hm, you’re right. You don’t,_ ” she said, lightly blowing the locks out of her eyes. “ _I_ _t’s just… better. Hm, no, that’s not right either. It’s just easier._ ” 

She gently ran a finger over his neck, teasing that sensitive spot that she knew now sent shivers down his spine. 

_“I’ve been noticing a lot of smells lately… I guess I just never realized how much I liked yours,_ ” she admitted softly, giving his neck a gentle kiss, making Byleth gasp just as Flayn had.

“Ah—what?” he began dazedly before she stopped him.  
_  
_ “ _Maybe it’s the mountains, but everything seems to smell... more, now.”_ she said, with a gentle smile on her face. _“What do I smell like to you, By?_ ” 

It was a white lie, but she still didn’t know how to explain… _what_ they were, or how she got that information. He didn’t trust Rhea, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

It pained her to admit it, but in some ways maybe they were stronger separate, in this place, with all of its strange secrets. Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t trust her. She still knew so little about her, about their people. She didn’t know if she was being hoodwinked, even if there was clearly truth to her words.

She put those thoughts aside, remembering what Flayn had said. She wanted to smell sweet for him.

As if he sensed what she was asking, he leaned forward as she had, nose brushing against that spot at her neck, filling her with even more sunlight than with Flayn, as it should.

This was her brother, the biggest part of her world, the one person she couldn’t live without. It was only right she felt it the most with him.

Her heart ached, so desperate was she to make him understand. She hated these secrets.

She held dark feelings towards Rhea for making her hide this from her brother.

He breathed, nuzzling into her as she held him close, humming as he held her. She felt the way his lashes brushed against her when his eyes opened again. His head raised, meeting her eyes.

“ _How — I’ve smelled this a thousand times, but I never realized… that was you?”_ Blythe tilted her head, smiling still.

 _“Do I smell good?”_ she asked, only half-teasing.

Something glinted in his eye that made her wary in a way she hadn’t felt since their days on the road together with their father and the rest of the mercenary band.

“ _In the best way wet hay can_ ,” he said in a conspiratorial monotone, prompting her to gawp at him in disbelief and pull on his ear before they both devolved into fits of quiet laughter.

After a few moments, they died down back into a comfortable, muffled silence, still tucked into one another.

Blythe sighed, a soft, nostalgic smile resting on her lips. “ _We haven’t been this way since we were small. What happened?_ ”

Byleth hummed against the crown of her head in that way that she knew he was thinking. “ _I recall Father insisting I have my own tent when my voice started changing_.”

“ _I remember he tried to get me to kick you out when I first bled_ ,” Blythe said. “ _But he didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to be alone, so you stayed_.”

He gave a noise of affirmation at that.

“ _Growing up was strange. It all felt natural being like this, but then Father started separating us, telling us we were strange for being so close,”_ he mused sadly. Blythe raised a hand up, caressing her brother’s chin, smelling the sadness of his scent clear as a bell.

“ _It doesn’t have to be like that, By. We’re adults,_ ” she said softly. _“We may be strange, but that is our decision. Father was just doing his best.”_ _  
_

Blythe turned her head, eyes shuttered and blank.

 _“But we’re not normal, Byleth. You know that, don’t you?”_ she asked, tone flat. She didn’t want to say it, but she couldn’t hide it. She was so sick of hiding it. 

_“We’re killers raising the children who will inherit the world, who only truly trust each other and our father. We smell things others don’t, and feel things others don’t understand,”_ she said, voice gaining heat. She turned to him, eyes gleaming. She didn’t know what her scent smelled like, but the way he flared his nostrils told him he noticed how agitated she was.

  
“ _But all the same, that is who we are, and we can’t be ashamed.”_

He was quiet in the way he always was when his mind wasn’t. Blythe knew she had said something incredibly risky, so she could only wait with a carefully maintained calm so that her own emotion wouldn’t betray her.

“ _I just don’t understand why we are this way_ ,” he said at length. “ _I know Father was correct in saying that this is not how others behave, but it felt… wrong still. And I have no reasoning for it_ _._ ”

“ _Hang reason,_ ” she hissed passionately, clasping his face in both hands and kissing his neck once more.

She stared into his eyes, her own straining, stinging in a way she had only felt in Rhea’s presence.

“ _You are everything to me, and I am everything to you. I would sooner die than let anyone take you from me,”_ she said, voice choked. She was silent, eyes still staring into his, her uncertainty surely showing, and she let it. _“There are… things I can’t tell you. I know you have secrets too. But I love you, Byleth, my brother.”_  
  
She pulled him tight, wrapping them in the blankets, the cramped space filling with their twin scents, smelling of life.

“ _I could never risk losing you. Never. What I do, I do for us both, please believe me,”_ she said, voice high and reedy, choked with emotion. She hated lies. She hated trickery. She just wanted to hold her brother and tell him it would be alright. But she couldn’t, so she soldiered on.

“ _I cannot explain it more clearly, and I still don’t have the answers either, but we truly aren’t like other people, brother. Our… our urges, our instincts, they are natural for us. This is natural to us. Father… doesn’t understand,_ **_cannot_ ** _understand_ _. I don’t know for sure, but I think it has to do with whoever our mother was,”_ she said in hushed tones. She wanted to say more, wanted to explain, but Rhea’s words were like shackles.

 _The more he knows, the greater the danger to him_ , her voice echoed.

She held him close. “ _Perhaps speak to Flayn, or—or Seteth. They understand. Maybe they can tell you things that I can’t,”_ she murmured into his ear, arms wrapped around his broad chest.

The last time she’d held him like this he’d been as thin as her. Her chest felt cold at that realization, the frozen not-heart in her chest seeming to struggle with the realization.

“ _Perhaps it does_ ,” he said, so quietly that if Blythe hadn’t been pressed up against him she might have missed it.

She made a small noise of confusion before he continued, “ _It could have something to do with her_.”

“ _How do you know?_ ”

“ _I… don’t_ ,” he murmured, his fingers moving through her hair somewhere between a caress and simple fidgeting. “I don’t have answers yet, only guesses. But once I know something — truly know, without having to look any deeper — I’ll tell you what I’ve found. I promise.” 

“ _We’re agreed, then. Our secrets will be kept until we have the whole story.”_

They were silent a long time, after that, both of them lying quietly in bed, hardly moving, their scents softening with their comfort in that moment, nestled inside of their blanket cocoon.

They lay chest to chest, savoring the other’s warmth, nuzzling into each other’s necks absent-mindedly, both of them clearly flagging.

She wasn’t sure when, but she had started to purr again, but her brother was too tired to notice it seemed, with the ways his eyes were drifting closed.

Gently, with all the care she could manage, she kissed the crown of his head as he nestled up to her.

 _“Good night, brother. I love you,”_ she said softly, voice small.

While he didn’t say anything, the soft rumble that began to echo in his chest that matched hers was all the reassurance she needed to know he felt the same.

With the two of them curled up together in their cocoon of blankets and pillows, time seemed to move like treacle. Everything seemed to exist with quiet intentionality, the moment perfect. 

But, when she spotted Sothis reappearing after having left her sitting on Flayn’s bed, she didn’t even think before she opened the blankets, inviting her in.

The ghost’s eyes widened nervously, clearly uncertain about joining the pair who were clearly so comfortable, but an encouraging smile seemed to put the spirit at ease. She floated over, silently wrapping herself around Byleth’s back, the both of them nuzzling into both sides of his neck, making him give a small pleased sound.

She gently stroked the ghost’s face, her skin feeling like something akin to the surface of an undisturbed pool of water, her physicality fragile and breakable, her presence only a vague suggestion.

All the same, she gently stroked at her collar, another scent mingling with theirs, Byleth’s purring rising to a warm timbre.

She couldn’t adequately describe the ghostly echoes binding to their scents. It smelled like a lot of things at once, subtle and mysterious, not aided by the ethereal nature of the not-smell.

Perhaps it smelled of sandalwood? Flower petals. Amber. All swaying drunkenly in and out of her perception. It was curious, almost arcane, but delicious, blending with theirs delightfully.

Their scents slipped together, somehow harmonizing despite their differences, pairing and forming a smell that she knew lulled them all into a deep sense of security. 

They slept better than they had in years, safe in the knowledge that their small family was whole, and dreamed of what lay beyond the spirit dais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, weird manakete bonding rituals. I've been wanting to write this since word one, haha.
> 
> ... Which probably explains why this one is so long.
> 
> We have a discord for anyone that wants to say hi or just be gremlins and post Three Houses memes!
> 
> https://discord.gg/qGfPFA6
> 
> Due to the nature of the fic, it is 18+. Though explicit content has not been posted, and as such not tagged, this fic is going to have content geared to an adult audience so be mindful that if you join, you agree that you are in fact an adult. We talk about whatever we please!  
> Hope to see you!


	17. Sword In the Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we arrive at the proverbial pulling of Excalibur.

There was an ink spot on Byleth’s desk.

He’d done it, he realized, regardless of whether or not he’d been aware of it; he’d carved it out with the nib of his own quill like a fidgety woodpecker.

It was becoming more of a theme in his life as of late, ever since the Lions’ foray into Gaspard territory a month prior.

Hm, no, now that he thought about it, he supposed it had been something more deep-seated still, if the warped binding of his journal was anything to go by. He’d prided himself in being something of a neat person, his side of the tent or room always having a tidier touch to it, but looking at the way his things were strewn about, he wondered where he’d taken a turn. Somewhere between being accosted by three fledgling royals and the skewed signatures of his lesson plans.

And now there was a permanent reminder of his descent on this desk that had seen a millennium's worth of instruction.

Make one stray mark, remember it forever.

Byleth let out a labored sigh, fighting back the urge to slam his head down onto the paper, telling himself it was to avoid looking unprofessional, though he knew that the ink had yet to dry on some of the sheets, and he didn’t want to go through the effort of washing his face for the second time in a day, even if his regimen hadn’t been looking the same.

Maybe he should anyway. It would give him an excuse to do something correctly, even if it would be remedial. But, alas, the walk of shame to the baths wasn’t something he had the energy for, let alone remaking lecture notes.

Blunt nails dug into the desk where he grasped its edge. Maintaining a professional appearance was becoming more of a struggle for him. He’d had to fight the urge to pat each and every one of his students on the head today at every turn and ruffle their hair to the point of ruining them. 

He felt like he was losing himself, tense and distrustful of his own mind as it whirled with foreign, intrusive thoughts that seemed far too enticing for what they were. It was taking all he had to smother them and swallow them down.

Especially recently where he could only count a single night where he’d gotten adequate sleep.

He wondered what was truly robbing him of his rest, the pressure of the assassination plot or himself. Likely both.

Regardless, he was caught in the middle of it all, and it was driving him to the precipice of utter madness, from which he was sure he’d get a good push off, provided he didn’t leap first. It was only a matter of time.

Ugh, _time_ . He’d wasted so much of it already on his work and produced a lot of what amounted as disorganized drivel which he would have to spend _more_ time on to make anything cogent enough to impart at lecture. He’d never botched a job before — _ever_ — but he felt as though he was about to make an acquaintance of failure, begrudging as he was to.

He needed to get up, for fear of marring his own sanity, let alone the desk.

His searching over the past month had largely come up with nothing, most of it leaving him with more questions that had since gone unanswered. It bothered him incessantly. His life was growing cluttered with them, the corners of his mind becoming something to rummage through rather than ruminate upon.

Abyss had yielded no results in regards to the threat posed to the Archbishop, but to be honest, it didn’t surprise him. It wasn’t the only reason he had been down there. The cardinal had told him much about his mother, but it had amounted to little beyond the anecdotal at best, and the man seemed far more interested in some treasure or other that a band of mercenaries had been after.

He would have to dig more there later. He had more time sensitive questions that demanded his attention. Another run around the grounds could help him stop his mind’s tangents and grant him the clarity to focus on productive lines of thinking.

He put away his things and stepped out onto the colonnade. It had been overcast and humid all morning, causing the certification exams his students had taken to warp and curl. With the wind as it was now, he was sure it would storm, the turbulence without all but mirroring the one within.

Hah, he supposed an impromptu shower would’ve taken care of the mess he’d wanted to make of himself on impulse. All while he searched more for things that weren’t there. How terribly efficient.

Byleth let his feet carry him past the other classrooms, through the reception hall where students and squires alike studied, his boots moving across the floor with a quiet echo that would have been missed in a more animated setting. He gave himself a moment to pause at the bridge to look out over the vista framed by the mountains as he pondered the possibility of an aerial infiltration before discarding the idea as a hopeless farce when easier entry tactics would facilitate a more successful interruption.

He continued on, nodding to the guards posted at the fortress gate before entering the cathedral. He allowed himself a moment to scan the room and the congregants strewn about in prayer, paying special attention to column and vaulted ceilings and the shadows therein, drumming his fingers absently against his gauntlet as he mulled it over.

It was pointless. None of this was doing him any good, it wasn’t even pertinent to the questions he was really asking.

He let out a breath of a sigh before making his way over to the advice box that he and Blythe had assisted in setting up in hopes that he could at least help _someone_ , even if it wouldn’t be himself. He reached into the box and pulled out the first note.

 _I’m hesitant to invite a girl to my room for the night with You Know Who living right next door. I don’t wanna know what kind of telling off I’d get the next day_.

Ah. Sylvain. Byleth could tell even without recognizing the handwriting. There were many things he could say, _wanted_ to say, that he wished the boy would heed, but knew that if Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix especially hadn’t gotten through to him, then it was unlikely that someone else would. Dimitri didn’t deserve to hear any of that through their shared wall, certainly, but neither did Byleth or his sister in the room _directly below_.

 _Perhaps I should speak to Seteth about the room assignments_ , he wrote back, hoping beyond reason that the man would listen and take pity on those affected. He reached for the next note.

 _It’s been a troubling year_.

Byleth stared at all five words and felt it in his soul. It had only been a few months, but it had already felt like he’d lived through an entire decade and come out more haggard and worn out than he should have felt.

 _Make sure you set aside time to take care of yourself_ , he wrote, knowing fully well of the irony of it all. He took out another.

_I’ve read a lot of the notes in here, and it seems like everyone is really bad off. Are you all good?_

It took everything Byleth had to not write _no_ and stuff it back into the box, but the students knew that the faculty was reading what was there, and it wouldn’t make the students feel better knowing that the ones entrusted with keeping them well weren’t well themselves. He would have to think of something better.

 _Worry often leads to growth_. It wasn’t a lie, no, but he supposed that it was something of a silver lining to it all. His father had told him that you learned more from a cut than you did from the swing of the sword itself.

Regardless, that had been more than enough counseling for the day, or at least all he had the energy for, and he still had much to do with the little amount of time he had.

He began walking around the perimeter of the cathedral, scanning the walls and parapets while posing questions to himself in his mind that he wasn’t sure matched.

His pacing stopped almost gently at the well on the western balcony, and as he rested his hand on the cold stone lip, he wondered. Rather than peer down into the dank depths to see nothing, his eyes trailed up towards the Goddess Tower.

The Archbishop had said that she and Seteth would be sequestered within during the Rite, their quarantine a stark contrast to the rest of Garreg Mach with its open gates as the public joined the residents in worship and merriment that the holy day brought.

What made that day special? Why would an assassin choose that day to strike…

“There you are,” came a voice from behind him, making Byleth whirl around with wild eyes and a killer’s instinct, his hand on his blade’s hilt and ready to draw before the ice melted from his veins at seeing a familiar face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Jeralt said, clapping a hand across Byleth’s shoulder after he dropped his hand from the iron. “You’ve been running over all of creation for the past few weeks. What’s on that mind of yours that’s got you so jumpy, kid?”

Byleth felt the answer should have been fairly obvious, but he knew a sharp tongue would beget him little when the man didn’t mean any harm by it. He was his father, and it was his right to express concern. He’d more than warranted it, he supposed, with the way he had been carrying on.

“...The day the church holds the Rite of Rebirth, the monastery is open to the people,” Byleth began, softly both to organize his thoughts, but his words trailed off as he saw Jeralt’s expression change slightly, motioning for Byleth to join him further away from listening ears.

“Go on,” Jeralt said, in a lower conspiratorial voice now that they were out of potential earshot of others going about their daily tasks in the monastery around them.

Byleth nodded, continuing his thought. “I understand the logic behind choosing the date, but…”

“...But you don’t think Rhea’s the real target,” Jeralt finished, a wry sort of half-smile appearing on his face. Byleth knew now that his father had been a career knight, being Captain also meant being head of Garreg Mach’s security, so it warranted the higher reasoning involved, but it still made him feel less alone in his anxieties to know that his father felt the same.

“This still doesn’t answer my question,” Byleth said at length, once he had recollected his composure. “Rhea isn’t the target, but what is? What do they want that they would divert our attention away from and onto the Archbishop?”

“The Knights will be stretched thin in wake of the threat, especially with the extras posted at the tower, which is what they’re counting on for sure,” Jeralt mused. “With all of them taking up post at a fixed point, it frees up a lot of places in the monastery for them.”

Byleth crossed his arms once more in a gesture that he had come to frequent, his fingers drumming along his forearm. “If they’re after valuables, there are plenty of other easier targets besides Garreg Mach, so it has to be something they can only find here, something that the Church guards closely.”

“I agree. Maybe a relic of some sort, but there’s too many to know which one. I regret that I won’t be able to stop them from looting whatever it is,” Jeralt said with a heavy sigh.

“Why is that?” Byleth asked.

“I’ll be right here at the tower, ensuring that Rhea isn’t…” Jeralt made some half-hearted gesture. “...‘interrupted’.”

Byleth furrowed his brow at that. “Interrupt… what?”

Jeralt scratched the back of his head, a tic Byleth had long since come to know as a tell for when his father was telling the truth. “I can’t say for sure, never really asked those kinds of questions when I was here. Figured it would keep me breathing in the long run, not that it’s done me much good since. But…”

“But what?”

“I think it has something to do with your mother.”

That sentence shot through him like a thunder spell taken in close quarters, making every hair on his neck stand on end. Jeralt had never talked with them about their mother, never offered any information about her. He and Blythe had figured it either wasn’t anything of importance, or worse, that it was a painful sort of memory that they wouldn’t press out of respect for their father.

But it was different now, their lives had all changed, and so irrevocably in such a short amount of time.

Time that was running out while he still had unanswered questions. 

The both of them leaned against the wall, family resemblance rarely more evident than in their matching thunderous frowns, even if one was more subdued. 

“Rhea and your mother were close,” Jeralt said after a long silence. “Not sure how close, but wherever your mother was, Rhea would eventually show up and whisk her away back into the monastery.”

His father turned to look at him then. “Look, Byleth, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever is going on now — not the plot, but everything else that’s happened — has had a mastermind behind it. It all feels orchestrated, like Rhea has something that she wants, and I worry that you and your sister are at the center of it.”

Jeralt’s words didn’t hold anything that Byleth didn’t already know, but hearing them voiced was a different matter that left a bad taste in his mouth that he feared might burn his throat if he were to swallow.

He’d had his suspicions about the Archbishop, and he certainly didn’t like that she and Blythe had been seeing more of each other as of late. Blythe hadn’t had to say anything, but she couldn’t hide the smell of brimstone.

As far as he was concerned, this constituted more condemning evidence against the Archbishop, that was for sure. He wasn’t sure how many strikes the woman had against her, but Byleth felt that if each piece were an arrow, he’d have a full quiver. This was something, but he was still left feeling that he needed to find out more about whatever their relationship was. He had a few ideas as to what she was doing with Blythe behind closed doors.

If there was some foul play involved with them, with why they were… different, maybe she was feeding her a false narrative, filling her head with pretty lies to bring her closer.

He clenched his hand into a fist, neck burning. 

If that was her plan, then she’d fail. If there was one thing Byleth knew with dead certainty in amongst all of this, it was that Blythe still held him dearer than anything. That hadn’t changed.

But he couldn’t let her fall into that snake’s clutches any deeper than she already had. He needed proof, needed evidence of Rhea’s involvement so he could open her eyes before it was too late.

His mission in the Abyss was even more precarious now, with Blythe on the table.

He grit his teeth, barely choking back a snarl next to his father at the thought of that woman— that— _usurper_ having the _gall_ to take her, his own _sister_ , away from him. Blythe was his, and he was hers. To dare break apart their family, _his_ family… he could kill for such an insult.

Byleth closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his nose before letting it out as a hot exhalation, cooling him down with each set. He was losing the narrative. He couldn’t afford to let his… emotions get the better of him like this, as foreign as it was for him, even as an idea. If the Archbishop had Blythe close, it was likely as leverage for speaking out of turn, even if what she’d done had merited it. His father had warned him to watch his tongue, and he quietly cursed himself for not heeding his advice.

“Here.”

His father’s voice brought him back to the western overlook, and Byleth looked over to see him offering his flask.

“For your nerves,” he said as Byleth looked at it skeptically before accepting it and taking a hesitant sip. It burned as it went down, making his face contort involuntarily which got a chuckle out of Jeralt.

“That’s vile,” Byleth got out in between coughs, earning him a solid slap across the back.

“It’s _strong_ ,” Jeralt corrected, and then his eyes softened a bit. “You’ve been restless all month, kid. I can’t claim to know all of what’s going on in that brain of yours, but you’ve gotta slow down every now and then. Can’t do anything about your worries if you’re burnt out.”

Byleth turned his eyes down to the stonework, unable to meet his father’s gaze. It almost felt embarrassing, the way his father was genuinely worrying about him. It reminded him of being a child being fussed over.

He could recall a time when he was just old enough to spar and a particularly cruel merc had gone a bit too far in what was supposed to have been a friendly match and left him with a pretty deep gash in his leg. Jeralt had intervened immediately, tearing a part of his own shirt off to use as makeshift gauze until they could get something better.

The man had tried to defend his actions by saying that a kid wouldn’t learn anything if they didn’t learn how to take a hard knock, and Jeralt had coldly agreed before breaking his leg with the sheath of his sword.

The crease in his brow had remained even after a medic had treated his leg and said it wouldn’t affect how Byleth moved or walked in any way. It had confused him. That night, when his father had put him and Blythe to bed, he’d asked why he looked so pained when he had been fine in the end.

“ _I just wish you’d cry once, son_.”

If he’d been anyone else, it might’ve sounded heartless, but it was spoken from a place of concern. Byleth had seen other children, the way a simple scrape or bruise would reduce them to tears, and a parent would be alerted and come running. But neither he nor Blythe had ever so much as emoted fully, let alone shed a tear. How else was Jeralt to know if one of them was hurting, if something was wrong?

How else was he to know they loved him?

“You know you can come to me with your problems, Byleth,” Jeralt said to him there in the monastery. “No knight squadron or mercenary band is a one-man show.”

Byleth nodded. “I know. Thanks, Dad,” he said before taking him into a hug that Jeralt returned.

“The bourbon enough for ya?” he laughed.

“Eh.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t run yourself ragged,” Jeralt said, giving Byleth one last clap on the back before leaving him there on the balustrade.

With a softness uncommon of his interactions with his father, he waved at his back, a soft “bye” leaving his lips. 

He sighed, his earlier rage suddenly nowhere to be found as he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the Holy Mausoleum’s large doors. There must be a lot of saints, or heroes, or something down there to merit such pomp and circumstance. The Abyss probably had ways to get… in… if they…

The mausoleum.

The idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. The mausoleum, it had to be the mausoleum. There were probably relics abound in there, and plenty of ways to get in, even with a thousand people above-ground, and it would be _open_.

Byleth groaned despite himself, running a hand through his hair.

It was so _obvious_ when he thought about it. It took him a month to think of that? Stars, maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought. That was somewhat worrying for his students, but then again, he hadn’t seen anyone _else_ in Garreg Mach arrive at the same conclusion.

His students.

The Lions.

He needed to tell the Lions.

Byleth had once been compared to a gust of wind by one of the mercs in Jeralt’s band, and it was something that he’d opted to live up to rather than stifle. Being swift was useful on the battlefield, which dictated more areas of his life than were perhaps healthy, but it had served him well thus far, even if it earned him bewildered stares from Garreg Mach’s denizens. As far as he was concerned, they could gawk all they wanted since he was the one with the prestigious professorship.

Even Seteth might have had trouble telling him not to run in the halls.

He ran around a corner in the stone pathway to cut through the gardens on the way to the academy’s classrooms, a shortcut he commonly took as the scenery and general lack of crowds suited him. But as he rounded the hedge wall, his eyes met royal blue and he came skidding to a halt mere inches from a wide-eyed Dimitri.

The two stood there in stunned, artless silence for longer than perhaps they should have before Dimitri’s cheeks took on a gentle pink tinge and he cautioned a greeting.

“Professor, is—is everything alright? You seem a bit, um… harried, as it were,” he said, tactfully refraining from using a number of words that others hadn’t shied away from. Byleth was personally fond of one that older women who’d made his and his sister’s acquaintance used, saying they were “touched.”

It suddenly occurred to Byleth that he was close enough to Dimitri that he should be feeling his breath against his face, and he took a step back as propriety would have it, his hands falling back to his sides as he muttered his apologies.

Dimitri’s chest fell in the way one did when relief came to them, rendering Byleth a healthy measure of shame in knowing he had been the reason for holding it in.

“I fear I am the one who owes you an apology, Professor,” Dimitri replied, skewing a small bow. “It was improper of me to grab your arms the way I did.”

Byleth absently rubbed at his wrist, suddenly aware of how his gauntlet and henley were askew. He couldn’t fault him for it, though. He would have collided with him had he not, and then Byleth would have had much worse to apologize for.

“I will take a mussed sleeve over accidentally bowling over a prince, I think,” he said softly, trying to inject some humor into the situation.

“That would certainly constitute a state incident in the right company,” Dimitri said with a small laugh.

“Hopefully the court shows me some small mercy for accosting the crown prince,” Byleth said as he refastened the straps across his wrist. “I’d hate to see a cell or get taken up to the block and—”

“I won’t let them,” Dimitri interrupted, a bit forceful in his reply. There was something intense behind the blue of his eyes, something dark… He turned away, coughing into his hand. “That is to say, wouldn’t. I would have — _do_ have — the authority to decide the rulings of such things, as it were. I… I wouldn’t allow harm to befall you, Professor.”

He’d said it so softly that Byleth wondered why he felt such a weight in his chest.

He always felt such a strange weight, whenever he and Dimitri were alone. Like they both had something they wanted to admit, but didn’t know what it was, or how to say it.

But there was also something else he wanted, down deeper than where words would reach, deeper within…

Then something reverberated inside Byleth, a deafening echo rattling through his chest, and for a moment his sight became grainy. He clutched his head and reached for something to steady himself with his free hand, all but losing his footing when he found none.

“Professor, are you alright?” came Dimitri’s voice, though it sounded as though he was far away or that he was hearing it from underwater.

Byleth clenched his eyes shut as the edges of his vision started to blacken, and he levelled out his breathing. His entire body seemed sluggish, fighting through water to function, fingers nerveless. He could feel the onset of a blackout, having experienced them from combat enough to recognize the signs. He could only imagine what his sister would say if she saw him now with how he appeared to be swooning over a prince. She’d tease him right up to the moment he’d _actually_ pass out.

It was humiliating.

When he could finally stand to open his eyes again, he became aware of Dimitri at his side as he leaned into him, and it took an embarrassing amount of effort not to blush as he took another step back. For propriety’s sake, of course. “I-I’m fine,” he managed once he stood on his own. “Again, my apologies, Dimitri. I was just in… a bit of a rush,” he admitted with an uncommon stutter from the well-spoken Professor.

“What is it, Professor?” he asked innocently, eyes wide, eager in the way they shone. He could guess the next words out of his mouth to be a humble offer, and he was right. “If you’re not feeling well, then perhaps I could be of assistance?” 

Byleth didn’t like being vulnerable, even less so in front of someone who held him in such high regard. Dimitri was someone he was supposed to instruct, to lead, someone with whom he had begun to forge a bond with, one he hoped would become stronger over time. They had good standing now, better than Byleth had made with most, save for his family perhaps, but a part of him however small wanted something _more_ , wanted something deeper, more substantial, something… 

No. No, he didn’t dare go further than that, to give it a name.

Whatever his desires, there was a more significant dynamic at play that would have to take precedent. Dimitri had a responsibility to the throne he was born to while Byleth was… well, for now, a professor.

“Very well,” he said, swallowing down anything that his erratic impulse would rather have had him say. “Meet me in the classroom in half an hour’s time. And make sure the rest of the Lions know to come, too.”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed a bit in response, but he nodded after a moment regardless. “Of course, Professor. We’ll be there, all of us,” he said. “Though, if I may be so inclined, might I ask why?”

Byleth took a moment to scan the garden around them, paying close attention to where he could see where the hedges thinned. “It’s best I share once we have a door we can close,” he said, keeping his voice low in an effort to remain furtive.

The crease in Dimitri’s brow smoothed out then, the expression replaced with an artful neutral that Byleth hadn’t previously thought him capable of, and he nodded. “We’ll be there, Professor. I can assure it.”

Then he bowed once more, turned on his heel and walked out of the garden, leaving Byleth there amongst the garden’s summer blooms and foliage.

He made his way back to his classroom, and by the time the clock tower rang off the hour, the rest of the Lions had filtered in.

Ingrid had been first, as she usually was. She was one of the more studious members of the class, if not the most, and it was her wont to be prompt. Ashe followed in behind her, Dedue at his elbow, which made Byleth raise his eyebrows in a knowing sort of way. His input didn’t truly matter, but he approved.

After them came Annette and Mercedes chattering away with one another about something or other that Byleth couldn’t parse. He’d hoped that simply being exposed to it would grant him some sort of understanding, but he hadn’t had any breakthroughs.

The door opened next for Sylvain, arms behind his head and a smug grin across his face, as a rather charred-looking Felix skulked in after him. He brushed a lock of hair out of his face, disturbing some of the soot therein before turning a piercing gaze to Byleth. “This is your fault.”

“I would hardly blame the professor for your own errors,” came Dimitri’s voice as he entered the classroom, closing the heavy doors until they heard a soft click. “He only sought to help you develop a skill you have an aptitude for, even if you may find yourself as you are a bit lacking.”

“I didn’t ask for your input, _Boar_ ,” he hissed as he spun around. “I have no need for spells where my blade should be enough.”

“I’m trying to prepare you for situations where you might find yourself without your weapon of choice, and you have a natural talent for offensive magic,” Byleth said, stepping in to defend what he knew to have been a perfectly rational decision. “I would suggest that you focus more on basic spellcasting before attempting more complex incantations in the meantime, though. Your closet will thank you for it.”

“Your closet would thank you for less, you know,” Ingrid grumbled low enough that Byleth wasn’t sure any of them had truly heard her.

Felix whirled around and all but stomped up to her, trailing soot with each step, and stopped just short of soiling her uniform as well. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you run it by me again?” he asked, leveling the fiercest glare he could muster at her.

The two of them locked stares before Ingrid broke their silent contest and looked over at Byleth. “Professor, can I assume you’ve gathered us all back here for something important?”

“Yes. There’s been a change in plans for what we’ll be doing during the Rite,” Byleth said, earning him more than a few surprised looks from his students.

“So... we _aren’t_ going to be standing guard at the armory?” Annette asked, bringing a hand to her chin in the same way she did when working out a complicated problem on the blackboard. “But what if the assassin breaks in?”

“It’s rather unlikely they would come in without a weapon of their own, so I doubt they would break in,” Ashe said, though he still furrowed his brow and crossed his arms as if considering a problem of his own. “I can’t say I don’t worry, though. It seems a bit irresponsible to abandon our post like that.”

Byleth rested his elbows on the top of his desk, placing the tips of his fingers together in thought. “We were given the post in order to accomplish a larger goal, but I don’t think the Church is missing the bigger picture for the finer details.”

“Someone made a threat on the Archbishop’s life. What more details could you need?” Felix asked, the vitriol still not gone from his eyes.

“Well, consider this: If an assassin were to strike, it would serve to their detriment to say when they were going to strike, especially in something as precarious as written correspondence,” Byleth said. “Only a stupid or inexperienced conspirator would make a mistake that egregious.”

Across the room, Sylvain stopped mid-step in his meandering pacing. “...Unless they were lying.”

“Just so,” Byleth said, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

“This means there is a different objective,” Dedue said, though Byleth could hear the question behind his statement.

His Lions were asking all the right questions, and the thought filled him with pride. They just needed a gentle nudge in the right direction in order to arrive at the answer.

“The date has to be significant, then, right? You don’t just pick the day of the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth just for the hell of it,” Sylvain said, echoing the way he himself had felt for the better part of that month.

“Well, there are a lot of people that come up to the monastery to celebrate, so the knights would have their hands full, even without the threat,” Mercedes said, looking contemplative in her seat.

“It’s obvious that’s what they’re banking on, then,” Felix said as he rested against one of the other desks, dropping a thin layer of black onto the veneer. “They won’t be able to guard everything, even with all of the students at a post.”

“Not to mention a lot of them are still off dealing with the Western Church,” Ashe said almost glumly, his eyes finding something to look at on the cover of the textbook resting on the desk he was sitting at.

Ingrid frowned a bit, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before diverting the conversation away. “Regardless, if the Archbishop isn’t their target, what is? If they wanted to spread the knights thin, then they’d be able to access anything in the monastery more easily.”

“Are they after something kept here? The letter almost sounds like the kind of thing a phantom thief would send out,” Annette mused.

“Oh! I love those kinds of stories,” Mercedes said with a giggle. “The heroes always go for the most daring masterpieces.”

“Could they be after something in the Holy Mausoleum?”

The Lions all turned around to look at their house leader, who up until now had remained quiet in the back of the classroom, but his eyes instead sought out Byleth’s. There was a dawning behind the blue there, as if he had been stepping across stones and moving on to the next before the other Lions had even placed it.

He had known Dimitri to be a thinker since accepting his position at the Officers’ Academy. The prince often took the time to consider things carefully, oftentimes to the point of overthinking. It was endearing, in a way, reminding him of himself in some ways, though Byleth still had some room to grow where his etiquette was concerned. He lacked the training of a royal, but he supposed it hadn’t been high on the list of priorities for a mercenary.

Though he’d be remiss to say he didn’t find it charming. Especially when he’d bite his lip.

“That was my thinking, yes,” Byleth said, drawing the eyes of the class back to him. “Out of all the places at Garreg Mach, there are only two places that seem to be off limits to all save the higher clergy: The Goddess Tower, where the Archbishop will be cloistered and guarded, and the Holy Mausoleum, which will be less guarded by comparison due to the threat. I suggest we watch it for activity and follow them in.”

The Lions remained silent for a moment more, as if mulling over his words and considering them in earnest, all furrowed brows and darting eyes.

Dedue was the first to break the silence. “How should we prepare?”

“Come with your weapons and armor,” Byleth replied, waving to dismiss them before another thought occurred to him. “And Felix?”

“What?”

“Make sure Manuela checks you over for any burns before you go back to the training grounds,” he said with a bit of humor in his voice.

The only answer he got was a scowl and some huffs that likely masked profanity underneath as he left, the rest of the Lions filing out as well, leaving Byleth alone with his thoughts.

“Professor?” 

Well, almost alone.

He looked up to see Dimitri standing before his desk, his features washed in the evening glow of the sun as it shone through the classroom’s window.

“Dimitri,” he responded softly, his mind seeming to haze over at the realization that they were alone together now. His collar itched, where Blythe had nuzzled it.

“What is it...?” he asked dreamily, watching his student, his Lion Prince gleaming in the sunset, light highlighting the curves of his face, the softer, honey tones in his hair…

“Are you sure you’re alright, Professor?” he asked worriedly, stepping closer, examining his face. “You’ve seemed out of sorts since I saw you earlier, but even before then you have been acting strangely. Is there something you need to talk about?” he offered seriously, guilelessly, without any ulterior motive in his gemstone eyes.

Oh, his sweet Lion.

Feeling that unnameable pressure in the back of his head again, Byleth clenched and unclenched his gauntlets, letting loose a cleansing breath.

“I’m fine, Dimitri. It’s nothing for you to be concerned with, I have it well in hand,” he stated, eyes at his student’s feet.

“So there _is_ something!” he cried, vindicated. “Professor, you must tell me, I’ve been so worried—” he said, catching himself mid-word and pulling back his aggressive posture from where he’d taken another step forward.

“That is, we have all noticed, and we worry for you, Professor. You are as much a Blue Lion as we are, and we care for our own,” he said gravely, channeling the voice he would likely one day use for solemn, kingly matters.

Something about his words itched at him, worsening that pressure in his head. He was not _theirs, they_ were _his._ His lions belonged to him, and were his to love and protect. It was his duty to, not the other way around.

He caught himself, another cleansing breath making Dimitri quirk an eyebrow. He knew it wasn’t meant like that. He was saying that the Lions cared for him, which was true and right. He needed to control himself.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” he said, his voice soft despite himself. “I’m just... tired. Between the academy, Abyss, and now this plot, I just feel like I’m getting run ragged.”

“Oh, I... didn’t realize you felt that way. I’m sorry,” Dimitri said, turning his gaze to the ground and looking absolutely crestfallen.

Byleth realized his gaff and felt his chest tighten almost immediately. “No, no, I didn’t mean it in that way. Teaching you and the Lions has been a pleasure, and I don’t think I would trade it for anything,” he all but stammered, backpedaling more than he would have in his past life. This is why he preferred taking the extra moment or two to gather his thoughts and choose his words. It was always a pain trying to correct the wrong ones.

He sighed, letting himself sag for only a moment, but he had already expounded some of his worries onto Dimitri — well, _some_ of them — so he didn’t see how letting him see something small behind the curtain. One more blunder in the mix wouldn’t damn him any further than he already was.

“Dimitri.”

Byleth clutched his arms at the elbow, making him take in a sharp breath as he looked him directly in the eyes, the light shaking in the blue.

“Y—Yes, Professor?” he answered in an unsteady voice, lips slightly parted.

Byleth paused to take him in, all resplendent and golden resting among the deep azure and barely a hair taller than him, and thought for a moment about how he might grow. Dimitri as he was now was genteel and polished, refined and cultured as any prince should be, almost as if he had emerged straight from one of the chivalric tales that Ashe and Ingrid might have read, but Byleth wondered what he might be like as a king. 

“I have come to cherish our time together here,” Byleth said, keeping his gaze level with Dimitri’s. “I’m glad I was able to become your professor.”

Dimitri swallowed, his eyes never faltering from the fixed stare. “I am as well, Professor. More than you know.”

And before Byleth had a moment to think more on it, Dimitri pulled away, bowed deeply yet anon, and turned and left, with Byleth entranced until he heard the soft click of the door once more.

With uncommon caution, Blythe entered his classroom, closing the door behind her, locking it with a firm click. Her eyes searched the darkening room, the final rays of sunset fading behind the mountains. Once she had confirmed they were alone, she walked up to her brother and wrapped her arms around him.

“ _Brother,”_ she sighed, Sothis floating in through the door as she held him close, nuzzling into his neck. She looked up at him with wide, serious eyes, analyzing him.  
  
“ _You smell wrong. Is something the matter?”_ she asked worriedly, pulling back to look him over. “ _Sothis and I both felt something strange, perhaps an hour ago. Did Dimitri do something foolish?”_ she continued, tight frown at her lips. He could only flush uncomfortably at her frustratingly adept assessment.

“ _No, it’s not Dimitri, he’s... wonderful as ever,”_ he stated definitively, pulling back and looking at his sister, similarly seeming a bit more ragged than usual; her hair had moved past its usual artful wildness to being downright messy, and her clothing bore dirt-marks consistent with crawling through enclosed spaces.

“ _Oh, yes, I’m sure you find him wonderful in more ways than one,”_ teased Sothis, poring over the books on his shelf like the overly curious gremlin he had come to know.

He sighed deeply as he dragged his hands down his face. But stars, _why_ did the women in his life insist on butting into his personal affairs?  
  
“ _He smells like you, you know_ ,” Blythe said, crossing her arms in a way that almost seemed coy.

“ _I don’t see how_ ,” he muttered, returning her look with a searching one of his own. “ _But you didn’t come here to ask about that, did you?_ ”

She shook her head. _“It’s not often you bring your entire class in for an early evening discussion, brother. What’s changed?_ ” she asked, leveling the unique stare that cut through him so easily. His sister knew him too well.  
  
He sagged, taking a seat on Ingrid’s desk. “ _We know where the attack will occur. We had to change our arrangements_ ,” he said simply, taking a modicum in pleasure in seeing his sister’s eyes widen, Sothis floating closer curiously.  
  
“ _Then, that’s wonderful! I, we can help! The Eagles would happily assist,_ ” she said eagerly, hands opening and closing excitedly at her sides.

He shook his head. _“No need, sister._ _I don’t want to arouse suspicion with more than one class being absent from their post. Not to mention that_ _the crypts are not terribly large from what I understand; too many people is as bad as too few, so the Lions and I should be enough._ ”  
  
Blythe’s face screwed up almost childishly as she leaned forward, doing all she could to match his height. “ _Well, you must at least take me_ ,” she said poutily but with no question as to the seriousness of her words.

Sothis cackled, floating above the both of them. “ _You should do as she says, Byleth. She’s not going to let this one go,”_ she advised with far too much amusement in her voice to let him believe she was being entirely sincere.

Not that he had the energy to fight either of them on it. All Byleth could do, really, was surrender. Besides, it would be… nice, to spend time with his sister, perhaps fight by her side.

Not to mention that his Lions would certainly be safer with her there too, if it turned out to be a more dangerous threat than anticipated. Even as he trained them and saw them improve, pass their certifications and come into themselves as warriors, Byleth worried for them beyond good sense. Blythe was, if he were honest, stronger in a straight fight than even him; she would fight like a demon to keep them safe, and that brought him no small measure of peace.

“ _Very well, sister. I accept your terms,_ ” he said, a small smile creeping onto his face. “ _I won’t object to_ _fighting alongside you again, for how long it’s been_ _.”_

Blythe smiled warmly, wrapping her arms around him once more. _“I’ll keep them safe for you, brother,”_ she whispered softly into his neck, nuzzling into his collar as had become her habit.

He couldn’t claim to understand where such a trait had come from, but… he couldn’t deny it felt much more pleasant than it had any right to, so he allowed her to continue, even matching her nuzzles from time to time, Sothis butting in unapologetically, her scent proving to be truly soothing, even if the act of touching her ghostly form was complicated and delicate.

After perhaps a few minutes of this, he hopped off the desk, feeling the weight in the back of his head surprisingly lighter for their trouble.

“ _So, it is to be as if we were guarding and patrolling the Holy Mausoleum,_ ” he clarified. “ _We will meet at its doors once the festivities begin, and we will need to prepare for anything. Your Eagles will remain at their posts, patrolling and guarding as needed._ ”  
  
“ _I can offer some alternatives to account for the Lions being elsewhere, too,_ ” she volunteered, reaching to the small journal she now kept by her dagger, flipping it open.  
  
“ _Caspar and Dorothea can be moved, having four patrolling the gardens was frankly due to lack of much else to do; I can send them to mind the armory while we’re down there._ ”

He nodded decisively. “ _That’s good,_ ” he confirmed. He remained silent for a moment, staring into the middle distance as he grasped his chin, a gesture Blythe always teased him for, saying it made him obvious.

“ _Can we trust Edelgard?_ ” he asked suddenly, making Blythe jolt.

“ _What do you mean?_ ” she asked weakly, suddenly off balance.  
  
“ _A runner would be of use to us, in the event I might be wrong. She could keep an eye above-ground, and alert us if something has changed. It’s not like we will be able to hear much in the Mausoleum,_ ” he observed. “ _We just need someone trustworthy, to ensure our plan doesn’t get out.”_

Blythe bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable with what was happening. “ _That is… Edelgard is very trustworthy. She would be equal to the task,_ ” she stated, clutching at her elbow, one of her most obvious tells. This was bothering her.

“ _What’s the matter, Blythe?”_ he asked, watching her carefully. 

_“It’s… it’s nothing, brother. It’s childish, really,”_ she said, brushing him off in an attempt to deflect. “ _Rest assured Edelgard will do her duty flawlessly.”_

Byleth was not convinced, but he knew that the relationship Blythe and Edelgard shared was fraught, particularly recently. He wouldn’t push. Stars knew Blythe probably wanted to do the same with himself and Dimitri, even if there was nothing there. ...Whether he wanted there to be or not.

Sothis seemed to sense her discomfort as well, hanging onto her shoulders as if a rucksack and nuzzling into her neck. It was truly unusual to watch and feel, and before he knew it, he was breathing in the scent of earth and flowers, Blythe’s shoulders loosening even as he watched.

He did not understand how or why this seemed to relax them all, why it… soothed him, when he was feeling unreasonable. Nothing about it seemed to have any reason for it.

He returned to the matter at hand. “So we’re decided, then,” he said softly. “I’ll see you there. And remember: prepare for anything, even if it could be nothing.”

She nodded, the same business-like jerk of her head she’d used with the Company all that time ago.

It was strange to see that echo of his sister the Ashen Demon, when later that night after she’d prepared her gear she’d shyly asked if she could sleep with him again.

Of course, he’d accepted, her warmth a balm his heart and mind did not know they needed, and they awoke on the day of the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth well-rested and ready for anything.

It was like the day before any pitched defense, really; they worked, dressed, ate quickly in the cafeteria with their students. He watched Blythe speak to Edelgard in hushed tones, the woman’s firm nod giving him some measure of respectful acceptance.

Childish and immature she might be, but she took her duties seriously. He could respect that.

Just as they were all finishing, Blythe returned to his side, finishing a piece of toast with jam in perhaps two bites tops. 

It had been a while since they’d worn live steel around the monastery. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the safety of their silver swords.

After confirming the Eagles understood their new marching orders, the Lions followed them to follow up on their hunch about the Mausoleum.

It was strange, seeing so many Knights of Seiros out and about, even stranger to see the monastery proper positively packed with people; he couldn’t begin to guess how many villages’ worth of people were here; he shuddered to imagine what the market looked like.

With orderly decorum, they made their way to the Holy Mausoleum. As ever, its doors, more like gates, were sealed shut, its secrets held fast.

There was an awkward stumble, as they faced their first hurdle; weren’t the doors meant to be opened? To pray for the rebirth of not just the Goddess but also those loyal to her?

He reached forward, grasping one of the rings held by the twin dragon head knockers.

Why a mausoleum needed to be alerted to company arriving he would not think too deeply on.

Hitching one leg against the opposite door, he gave a hard pull, the gate groaning unhappily at his efforts, but giving, at least until he felt his progress be stopped with a juddering ‘clank’ coming through from the other side.

Curiously, he and everyone else looked into the darkness of the long staircase into the mausoleum, clearly seeing stout iron chains hanging over the gap at chest level.

The mausoleum had been barred from the inside. If that wasn’t proof of foul play, he didn’t know what was.

He turned to address the group, thinking quickly. “Dedue, ready your axe and get to work on these chains. I think with a few good hits we should be able to snap a link,” he said authoritatively, the young man stepping forward with grace that belied his size.

Even as Dedue began his admittedly noisy work, he still continued to think. They wanted to be alone and unbothered while they were down there… what could they be doing with corpses? Were they buried with relics? Treasures? He tapped his foot, worry and eagerness filling him with nervous energy.

With a final crash, the chain snapped; a bit of fidgeting until it came unmoored from its anchor and they were in. Dedue pulled the doors open, taking point.

The mausoleum had evidently been prepared for the Rite; sconces were lit, quite little in the way of dust or debris in evidence as he would have assumed. 

Blythe was smelling quite obviously, seeming to try to hunt for something. When he looked at her, eyebrow quirked as they continued down the long staircase, she merely shrugged. “ _Smells strange_ ,” was all she said. 

Byleth took in a few sharp breaths of his own, albeit a touch more covertly than his sister had, probably from a sudden onset of self-consciousness than anything, though he was inclined to agree. He furrowed his brow, something about it irritating him in a way he couldn’t quite place, if only because it smelled… _familiar…_

He could sense Sothis drifting behind them and was glad that she seemed to know it was important to be unobtrusive in a situation like this. For her troublesome urges, she knew how to stay serious when it mattered.

They both followed behind Dedue, noses flaring, searching for the scent. However, it was not long before they smelled fresh sweat and heard grunts, as they stared down the doorway leading into the Mausoleum proper.

The twins nodded at one another, Byleth quickly whispering positioning orders to the Lions and confirming the layout with surreptitious peeks.

There was no need to inform Blythe past a simple, knowing nod; they’d been in situations like this a thousand times, she knew what to do.

One worry, however, was the imposing figure standing dead-center in the room, black armor imposing, destrier impressively well-behaved despite... _somehow_ having been transported down into the mausoleum. The scythe he carried gleamed in the way only truly well-cared for weapons did, and Byleth couldn’t help but feel that the unconventional choice in his arm was backed by the knowledge of how to use it with unerring proficiency.

With steady, quiet steps, Blythe made the first move, bow raised and arrow nocked.

The moment she saw her shot, she took it, arrow sprouting from what looked like a mage’s throat.

Their cowls were strange, not that it truly mattered. They’d keep one or two alive, and leave that to the Knights to interrogate.

An enraged cry left the throat of what seemed to be their leader at the sight. “Death Knight! Intruders!!” he cried, the irony not lost on Byleth. “I order you to deal with them!” he continued, before returning to his efforts to unlock the coffin which seemed to hold particular power, if its position on an upraised platform suggested anything on the other side of the room. It almost seemed to call to him from where they stood on the landing, the scent they had been tracking strengthening and emanating from it.

“ **Hmph,** ” boomed the “Death Knight’s” voice. “ **I sense little challenge from these children. If you cannot defeat them, you do not deserve my assistance,** ” he rumbled, voice distorted and inhuman.

Dimitri spoke up then, pointing past the Knight. “They’re trying to open Saint Seiros’s coffin!” he shouted, the horror in his voice almost as audible as the groan of the steel lance that threatened to break in his hands from the strain. “We can’t let them open it!” he ordered, before pushing forward into the fray with Dedue at his side, Ashe offering support.

 _“Seiros..?”_ whispered Sothis in wonderment from Byleth’s shoulder. Within instants she had flown forward to observe the grave robber at his work, leaving them to their grim duties.

And with that, battle was joined. The Lions split into two groups, one to each side, pressing through the rabble the grave robber had brought with them.

This left the center open, Blythe and Byleth staring down the Death Knight. They had a presence about them that told him that it was safer this way, that it was better to face them with their superior battle experience to keep his Lions away from a slaughter. Both of them unsheathed their swords, noting the strange runes beneath their feet.

The Knight seemed uninterested in pressing the attack, but there seemed to be no question that whoever this was, they needed to be put down. 

“ _He’s on some kind of evasive rune! Don’t ask how I know that,”_ offered Sothis, appearing between the two of them.

To either side of them, the battle was joining violently. His students fought like their namesake to his pride, pushing the invaders back with easy, practiced maneuvers just as he had taught them. 

“So how’re we doing this?” called Blythe over to the Death Knight. “You’re going to let us kill your friends and then, what, let you leave?” she asked pointedly, sword at the ready.

“ **You cannot stop me if I wish to leave.** ”

Blythe scoffed. “Sure.”

She fell into a ready position with a flourish, his instincts matching hers flawlessly.  
  
“Let’s see if you’ve earned that name.”

And so, they faced down the Death Knight, and regretted it.

The man’s speed was inhuman; his scythe blurred, effortlessly countering their strikes and cutting into their defenses.

They attempted to employ every technique they had, backed by years of experience and iron-forged practice which had pulled so many lordlings and bandit kings off their horses, but doing little more than annoying him. 

Within moments, the twins felt something that they had not known for what must have been years: the feeling of being completely and utterly outclassed.

It was when he watched his sister, light of his life and one of the only people that truly mattered be run through by his scythe, picked up and tossed away like a rag doll that something snapped in him, a vicious snarl on his face.

He was torn between rushing to his sister’s aid and killing this monster who would dare to hurt what was his; he already saw Mercedes rushing, but in his heart he already knew it was too late; his heart broke, even as he swore the most terrible vengeance on this Death Knight. He would recognize his scent anywhere, track it to the ends of the earth if need be. He rushed forward in a vicious, unthinking lunge meant to do little more than _hurt, punish, kill._

And then, a deafening, titanic sound, like a cliff collapsing, like a deafening gong strike reverberating through him with the clarity of a chime, every particle of his being vibrating with its force.

He floated in space, the creature inside of him purring with satisfaction. This was power, this is what he needed to keep his people safe, it seemed to whisper.

He looked at the events of the last few moments, tutting to himself. Oh, but this would not do. With a thought, he pulled back, fixing their error.

With a feeling like being rocketed from the bottom of a lake back into fresh air in an instant, he came back to himself, immediately stumbling to grab Blythe’s shoulder, Sothis beside him. 

“ _Don’t fight him!_ ” she cried, standing in front of Blythe, whose eyes had gone blurry and indistinct. “ _We had to turn back the hands of time, you’re safe now,_ ” she tried to sooth, a hairline tremor running through Blythe’s sword-hand, making the Death Knight scoff.

“ **Hah. So you begin to understand who you face, little one. That makes you wiser than most** ,” he goaded, never moving from his position even as his students pushed up to the area before Saint Seiros’s coffin.

He grabbed Blythe’s hand, heedless of strategy. “ _Come on,_ ” he whispered, pulling them around the Death Knight, giving him a wide berth.  
  
“You are too late, puppets of the Archbishop!” the grave robber called as the coffin’s lid slid to the floor with a deafening thud. “With this, we will prove for good and all that we have no need of Garreg Mach’s foolish edicts! The seal is broken and we shall see the truth!” he cried, reaching into the coffin, only for his tirade to stop abruptly.

“What in blazes is this!?” he cried, pulling out a sword, and not a small one either, with an ease uncommon of a mage.

It was massive; some sort of modified claymore perhaps; with a serrated edge, such a thing could cut a man clean through with a strong enough wielder. Its guard was foreign as well, an empty circle surrounded by more traditional quillons.

“ _Give that back!”_ cried Sothis suddenly, reaching her ghostly fingers up, grabbing at the strange sword as if she were solid, fingers somehow finding purchase. Suddenly, the grave robber felt himself being pulled, sword pointing down at the green ghost’s chest.  
  
“ _That sword… is mine!”_ she cried viciously as she pulled, the grave robber’s grip breaking when, of all unthinkable things, the sword split with a ‘crack,’ right down the middle, new edges marked by viciously sharp puzzle-corners and squares, as if the Sword had always been two pieces.

Both halves slid as if of their own volition towards the twins, each of them picking one up thoughtlessly.

Byleth held it, filled with a deep trepidation at the… morbidity he felt within this weapon, as its new semi-circle hilt gleamed an unnatural red within its empty center, as if from nothing.

“ _That is my sword, pilferer, and only my champions may wield it! Byleth, Blythe! Strike them_ **_down_ ** _!”_ she called imperiously, pointing her finger at their target.

As if sensing her order, the thief stumbled back, a fire spell forming quickly in his hand as he hurled twin flares at each of them.

With twinned, almost dainty motions, they cut the spells with surprising delicacy for what they hefted, the sword taking in their magic and the interloper’s effortlessly, edges gleaming with an unnatural fire-orange sheen. Before the mage could prepare another salvo, Dimitri tackled him to the floor, giving them what looked like a vicious left hook.

That left only the Death Knight, who was laughing uproariously at the farce playing out before him.  
  
“ **Oh, yes!** ” cried the Death Knight, stepping off of his rune. “ **Now this is promising! Do your new weapons bear enough power to challenge even me!?** ” His scythe swung out, gleaming even in the half-light. “ **Let’s find out. Keep your children away, or I will claim their heads** ,” he stated bluntly.

Blythe grabbed at his hand thoughtlessly, Sothis stepping forward, the two of them pulled almost thoughtlessly by the swords in their hands.  
  
“Stay back,” uttered Byleth, in perhaps his last conscious thought of the fight.

“ _My beloved children, I offer you this power. You see your enemy. Strike him down and rupture heaven!!”_ screamed Sothis, the both of them moving in synchronicity that bordered on the inhuman.

Without conscious thought, Byleth flicked his grip, twisted and pulled as their blades split into long segments, doubling, tripling, quadrupling in length, their blade-whips blurring as they tapped into some kind of ancestral memory. Both he and Blythe moved as one, their attacks criss-crossing and washing over the Death Knight with vicious fervor segments gleaming with magical power, knocking him clean off his horse and only barely managing to land in a kneel.

Their swords came back together quickly, with an effortless click as the pieces reformed, the technique finished by unspoken agreement. 

His destrier seemed unbothered by his master’s fall, the both of them looking at them with dangerous eyes.

The Death Knight looked at them both, face unreadable behind his death’s-head mask. He hefted his scythe at the ready. “ **Why not first blood?** ” his distorted voice uttered. “ **I would hate to kill such interesting prey now, before they had learned their power**.”

Accepting his challenge thoughtlessly, they rushed in, and Byleth’s blood _sang._ This sword, this opponent, he’d never felt more _right_ in battle than he did now, with his sister, his other half, and an adversary worthy of their combined might.

It was an incredible fight, all would later attest; the twins fought with time-worn teamwork, but the Death Knight proved their equal at every turn, turning away two swords as easily as one.

Blythe fought at the point, her sword, the serrated one catching and parrying the Knight’s scythe as Byleth supported, finding weak points and peppering him with weak, distracting spells as they fought in constant motion.

There were no stalemates nor pauses; every action had an equal reaction, all present desperate to claim that single drop of blood that would herald the victor.

Even with the two of them fighting him, the Death Knight truly earned his name; he fought like a demon, moving in full plate as if it were silk, parrying and countering, footsteps impossibly stable and fast.

But then, they were demons, too. Even if in all their lives they had never fought the Death Knight’s equal, they still fought with effortless synchronicity, two parts of the same whole, combating him furiously, pivoting and changing roles effortlessly and without sign or signal, keeping him off-balance.

Byleth hadn’t felt so free to push his skills to the limit in years; even his sister didn’t compare, they knew each other’s moves perfectly, but this, this new threat, this new danger forced them to the edge of their prowess, taking risks they wouldn’t ever dare waste on anything lesser. 

Everything old was new again, gambits and feints they had used and learned to counter on one another found new purchase in pushing this spectral foe back.

“ **Impressive, professors!** ” called the Death Knight as they fought. “ **You do not disappoint! And yet, I must cut this short.** ” he called even as he parried and dodged their strikes, an outstretched hand reaching out to catch and crush one of Blythe’s fireballs as though it were an overripe fruit.

With a bestial, distorted cry, the Death Knight whirled, sickly red energy flying forth from his scythe, bowling them over with the sheer force of the attack.

Both on their backs, staring up at him they could only grit their teeth and cede their defeat.  
“ **Do not fear, my aspiring challengers; we will meet again,** ” he said finally, fading away with a snap of his fingers, the destrier joining him off in whatever void lay beyond.

All was silent for a time save for the ragged breaths of the Lions and those who had survived their encounter with them.

Byleth, after catching his own, made a sound of frustration, bringing his fist down onto the runed tile before collecting himself and sitting up, a familiar shock of ginger entering his field of vision.

“I gotta be honest, Teach, I didn’t think that guy was supposed to be real,” Sylvain said, extending a hand and pulling Byleth up when he accepted it.

Byleth paused for a moment and furrowed his brow. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Well, see, there was this girl,” Sylvain started, Byleth unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And I wanted to take her out to dinner, right? Well, she turned me down because one of her friends had been walking home one night and saw some knight in the street with a scythe.”

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone because…?”

Sylvain shrugged. “I just thought she didn’t wanna go out with me,” he said as he pulled Blythe up to stand as well. “I mean, it sounded so far-fetched. Who makes an excuse like that?”

“People who have to deal with you,” said Ingrid with the weight of sincerity in her words. “Though for once I can’t fault your logic,” she added as she rubbed at her shoulder where the sleeve had burnt away a fair amount.

“I can’t say I would have believed her, either,” Annette said as she bounced to where they were gathering, Mercedes behind her tending to a wound on Dedue’s side as he leaned against Ashe for support.

“Of course not, it sounds like something a child would come up with,” came Felix’s sullen voice.

“Yeah, like the stuff I used to tell you and Dimitri when you were kids,” Sylvain said, a wry smile spreading across his lips as he rested his arms behind his head. “And then you’d get scared and come to me crying—”

“I will not suffer your insolence, Sylvain,” Felix hissed, cutting him off, though not soon enough for his liking, Byleth imagined.

“Aw, Fe, you know I would never. I don’t think I could do any more damage to you than your own misfired thunder spell did last week, anyhow,” Sylvain said just before deftly dodging a swing Felix threw at him, drawing a defeated sigh from Ingrid as she silently volunteered to go and separate them.

“In any case,” Ashe said, cutting through the commotion in that polite way of his, “I couldn’t help but notice that some of these people are wearing the vestments of the Western Church.”

A shadow looked as though it threatened to fall over the boy’s face, but it was dispelled as Dedue reached over and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. And if Byleth looked closer, he might’ve seen a small smile.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Dimitri said, finally joining the rest of them, the state of his attire worrying Byleth no small amount. There were tears in the fabric, the blue stained red in places that told him of erratic strikes rather than a sloppy defense, though he figured that he should be thankful for the victory and not the alternative, as he had seen with his sister.

He felt a touch at his hand and looked to see Blythe’s as she gently stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, coaxing it out of the fist that he hadn’t realized he’d made. Despite the public setting her forehead was leaning into his shoulder, her own hands shaking as she held him.

A pang struck him. He had failed to protect her, and she was paying the price. Dying must have been a terrible experience to come back from.

He was roused from his thoughts by his Lion Prince. “Though, Professor, I do have to wonder,” the prince continued, looking to their claimed relic, “how it is that you’re able to wield something as renowned as the Sword of the Creator?”

“The what?” came an echo from Ingrid, Ashe’s eyes also shooting up. “You mean the sword used by Nemesis?”

“Who is—” Byleth started, but he was cut off by the sound of footsteps and armor as a battalion of knights entered the mausoleum.

“Fan out and search, men! If those intruders want in, then I don’t want ‘em out,” came the familiar voice of Catherine as she strode out to the front, Thunderbrand raging in hand. Edelgard was at her side, resplendent in her plate and shield, axe held firmly. Catherin’s steely gaze searched the room until it fell upon the twins, then their hands. “By the Goddess… What—What happened here? How did you—”

“I think you’ll find the Western Church soldiers here to be something of note,” Blythe supplied. “My brother and I believe they are the ones behind the note.”

“But Lady Rhea—”

“Is perfectly safe,” Byleth interrupted. “The threat was a distraction from their true objective.”

Catherine looked at the sword, a holy relic ruptured down the middle, and sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. This is above me.” Then she turned away, her voice thundering through the chamber as she shouted, “New orders: Apprehend any surviving members of the Western Church and take them to the cells until the Archbishop puts them to trial.”

Byleth looked over at Blythe, meeting her searching eyes in the same way she met his, a number of unspoken questions listing between them as they gathered the students and made their way out of the Holy Mausoleum, the combined halves of their sword radiating in a way that spoke of some judgement levied in some bygone age, the echoes of which permeated yet still by the striking of some unseen hand.

His mind continued to whirl as he watched the Empress-to-be run up to his sister, babbling words of worry, how she was sorry she was too late, how she saw the broken chains and alerted the Knights as quickly as she could.

He looked at her, and saw true, genuine worry; there was no breath of a lie in her in this moment, in the way she clutched at Blythe’s shoulders, pulling her into a terrified hug. Slowly, he watched her wrap her arms around the woman in turn. He stepped away to give them some privacy. She was still shaken, and he was reminded of that feast and the garden, how well she was taking his advice.

She held her close, stroking her hair, Blythe nuzzling into her neck, breathing her in appreciatively. Though weaker than his sister’s, he could even make out the vague scent of lavender and blade oil. Her perfume, but not her scent.

He looked back to the blade in his hand. His questions were numerous, though he had a distinct feeling that the answers were fewer; he held a long-dead legend’s sword, and he had the inkling that whatever answers he found would only raise more questions still.

It would be no simple task, no, he had already learned this; but he realized now that he had simply been looking in all the wrong places.

But wherever the right place was, it was becoming clear it would lie with those bearing green hair and dark secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe that the google doc that we're working on the fic in is just over 200 pages now? Would you also believe that this chapter was 30 of them?
> 
> Would you also believe that all of those advice box questions are real? (Though a bit paraphrased)
> 
> Hey, if you're interested, we do have a discord server where you can come and chat and post memes or whatever:  
> https://discord.gg/YzeJJ7v  
> Do be aware that it is an 18+ server!


	18. Peace and Possessiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rite of Rebirth receives its denouement; Blythe goes on a stroll.

It was a blur, over all, once they’d escaped the Holy Mausoleum. Catherine ordering the knights sharply, Jeralt escorting the Archbishop swiftly past the commotion to what she assumed would be her chambers.

She stood at the front of a gaggle of children, sword in-hand and lacking a sheath, unsure what precisely would happen next.

They did what they were supposed to, they’d accounted for their actions. She supposed she’d see some of Rhea’s true colors with how she, to the best of her knowledge, helped unintentionally desecrate a priceless holy relic. 

She followed her brother as he brought the children back to the Blue Lions classroom. He took his place before his desk, Blythe and Sothis leaning off to the side against a wall.

“We did it, Lions,” he said, a small smile on his face. There was a small cheer that went up amongst them, none so worse for wear that they’d need to see the infirmary.

“That mission went about as perfectly as one could hope, strange Knights aside,” he said ruefully, hands at his hips. “Savor this moment; you’ve all done your duties impeccably, and none can fault your skills or your conduct. I’m proud of you all.” 

He gestured to Blythe, inviting her to his side. “Professor Blythe and I will be going to debrief the Archbishop and the Knights, so for now, your time is your own. Take care of each other, Lions,” he said finally, grasping Blythe’s hand and walking through a chorus of “Yes, professor!” 

Despite his words, it seemed her brother had different ideas, however, walking them quietly into an alleyway next to the sauna.  
  
“Are you okay, Blythe?” he asked intensely, looking her over with sharp, worried eyes, pulling her hand up to his face and examining the hairline tremor therein.

“I—I’m not, but I will be,” she said, doing her best to be honest with herself and her brother both. She reached a shaking hand to where the scythe had pierced her chest and stopped something that had never started. “That fight, when he… I’d never felt that. I pray I never will again,” she said with a haunted look in her eye.

He held her close, in an act of intimacy she did not expect from her brother, gently nuzzling her neck. “I won’t let it happen again,” he swore softly. “Never.”  
  
Despite herself, she melted into his embrace, the scent of juniper and petrichor soothing her immeasurably as she held him, her other half. 

She held him for a long time before she pulled back, eyes sharper, tremor gone.  
  
“Come on,” she murmured. “We have an Archbishop to explain ourselves to.”

From there it was a short walk; they meandered amongst the thinning crowds, celebration cut short by the attack, and the main event finished besides. She wanted to wince; she didn’t like _having_ to go to Rhea, explaining and defending their actions. They worked for her, but she certainly didn’t feel accountable to her.

The smell of varnish was thick as ever as they ascended the staircases, standing in the hall that led to the Archbishop’s chambers.

“ _So… not talking about what happened first?_ ” asked Sothis uncertainly, floating beside them, eyes shutting despite her efforts.   
  
“ _No,_ ” said the twins in unison.

“ _Best to plead ignorance until we can sort things further,_ ” stated Blythe simply, even as the halves of the blade emitted a baleful glow almost in warning at their sides. She cared for Rhea, but she knew the Archbishop had an agenda, even if she couldn’t discern what it may be, and it would be best to choose what was said very carefully around topics such as these.

She knew her brother rarely betrayed his own caution, something that had proven beneficial at times, life-saving in others. He would not be faulted, especially not here, though Blythe had to wonder if his wary vigilance had served to his detriment here. She worried that it was driving a wedge between him and the knowledge that she was so sure he realized he lacked, and what he would do to find it worried her in turn.

There were questions to ask in that chamber, and Blythe wasn’t sure which would be voiced, if any at all.

She made no sound. 

If her brother insisted on being difficult, she would just need to do it herself, then. 

For the sake of both of them, she’d weather even his ire, if need be.

Three sharp knocks echoed in the hall.  
  
“You may enter,” came Rhea’s melodic voice from inside.

Soundless hinges let them into the chamber. Rhea and Seteth stood before them, as she always did, implacable smile upon her face.

Curiously, Catherine was at her side, looking at her reverently as she spoke before turning to them, eyes sharp, assessing threat.  
  
“Ah, here they are,” she said sweetly. “The heroes who saved the Monastery from attack. You simply must tell me what has happened, my dear professors! Catherine was kind enough to explain what she knows of the perpetrators, but _you_ are the ones I want to hear most from.”   
  
She turned her head, giving Catherine a smile specifically. “Not to discount my stalwart knight’s hard work,” she said sweetly, Catherine blushing at her comment, quickly tucking her head down.

  
“Anything for the Archbishop,” she murmured lowly.

The twins looked on, and Blythe began to plan.  
  
“The Knights would know more about the perpetrators than we would; the only information we can offer is on two of the major curiosities in the event: The Death Knight, and the sword,” she stated bluntly.

“Yes, this ‘Death Knight.’ Cursory questioning gives us little, but the eyewitness accounts from around the monastery and the account given by Dimitri paint an interesting picture; elaborate,” ordered Seteth, hands clasped behind his back as Rhea looked on beatifically, Catherine at her side.

Blythe mirrored Seteth’s posture. There was no need to be fearful, she reminded herself. This was just another debriefing. Just, for a situation that did not end as expected.

“The Death Knight is a warrior that is unmatched in both of our experiences,” volunteered Byleth. “His might is superhuman; even with the both of us working in tandem, he forced us onto our backs.”  
  
“Your backs?” asked Rhea curiously.   
  
“From Dimitri’s statement, that is just what happened; a grave insult for a warrior to bear,” supplied Catherine at her side, eyes respectfully averted.

“We are both lethally skilled, and that is no word of a lie,” answered Blythe. “I must defend our honor. We are some of the best warriors in all of Fódlan; we know this to be true. For us to be defeated so handily, and for him not to kill everyone in the mausoleum is a mystery to us.”  
  
Byleth nodded. “His behavior made no sense. The intruders spoke of him as an ally, but he blatantly ignored their cries for help as we took them down. If he had been involved from the beginning, all I can say is we would have been lucky to cut a retreat.”   
  
Rhea nodded gravely. “And this mysterious figure is still at large,” she confirmed, a pensive look on her face. “Can you think of any reason why he might have let you live?” she asked, looking them over with an open worry that made Blythe’s heart clench. She wanted to believe it was real. Oh, how she wanted to.

Seteth cut in: “Indeed. Any hint as to his motives would be of vital importance. Unsubstantiated rumors of a figure matching his description have been reported around the Monastery before this event, raising dangerous questions as to what his goals may be.”

Blythe mused on the subject; what she had was obvious, but it couldn’t explain what precisely was the reason for his strange appearances beforehand.

“I personally believe him to be under the employ of some kind of third party,” she stated clearly, Byleth giving her a warning look whose message she could all but hear: _tread carefully_. “His actions don’t match up; he’s obviously not closely related to the Western Church, whatever their motives, and yet he had little to no reason to be there are all,” she supplied. “He just wanted to fight, and there are easier ways to get those.”

“He seemed to be what we in the mercenary business call a Blood Knight, is what my sister means; he craves battle with worthy opponents. He seemed to think we have more growing to do, which we believe to be the reason we were spared,” Byleth opined before Rhea could voice any worries, eyes shuttered and flat. Her brother saw the Archbishop’s concern and did not believe it for a moment, she knew. In a more generous mood, he would write it off as performative at best.

“I think it was the sword, too,” blurted Blythe, clearly piquing Rhea’s interest as she tilted her head curiously. Her brother would hiss at her for it later she knew, but they could only hide it for so long. Better to come clean early.

“Ah, yes, the Sword of the Creator, a weapon from legend, now sundered in two, as if it were always so…” she murmured, consternation tainting her expression.  
  
Blythe shook her head. “It is a mystery to us as well, Lady Rhea. It split in the interloper’s hands, and he seemed to physically fight the sword until it freed itself from him and slid towards us.”

Rhea’s curiosity was clearly piqued at this, ash and fire giving way to an almost gentle woodsmoke smell. “I see…” she said, smile in full force. “And I presume, then, you understood something about the weapon’s capabilities?” she pressed, eyes gleaming hungrily, a vague hint of desperation in the pinch of her brow.

Blythe hesitated at this, catching her brother’s eye in like, but eventually nodded jerkily. “Y—yes. We unhorsed the Death Knight using… a special technique, and he seemed fascinated by our ability to do so. I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say the sword saved us from him by promising our power would grow.”

Rhea frowned at this, that worried look crossing her face once more. “Well… I suppose there can be no question then,” she murmured, dazedly. “Unsheath your weapons.”  
  
Taken aback by her strange request, they locked eyes once more before nodding awkwardly.

They pulled the swords from their belts, raising them up for the Archbishop’s perusal.

Rhea assessed both blades, walking up to them both, gimlet eye carefully assessing both blades.

  
They were not twinned blades, as it were. Blythe had been gifted with the serrated edge, while Byleth held the true edge. Each bore a half-guard that, unwieldy as they were, would need to be modified or compensated for in form. Their sides made for awkward twins, broken in unnatural and asymmetrical jags that looked lethally sharp all the same.

This was the first time she had a true chance to look over their sword, however, for there was no question it was still meant to be a singular sword, and not… whatever it was.

It was not steel, iron, or even bronze; its material was… unnatural, or _too_ natural entirely.

It looked like aged bone, calcified and hardened with time, not unlike ones they had seen in canyon walls as they traveled along ancient riverbeds.

  
But it _pulsed_.

It was almost invisible to any but the wielder, but she could feel it; the steady inhale-exhale of a heart that wasn’t hers, echoing the gentle glow that echoed from the hilt, still pulsing in time between both halves, obvious as they mirrored each other.

It promised terrible power, if only they drank of it.

“It pulses with life…” said Rhea with wonder as if echoing her thoughts. “It is true, then. You are meant to wield it… the Sword of the Creator. As was foretold.”

She spread her arms. “You both have been marked by the Sword as worthy successors, to erase Nemesis’s taint by the grace of the Goddess herself. If the Goddess has made her choice, then who are we to challenge it?” she said, for once smiling with teeth and giving a delighted laugh.  
  
“I bequeath it upon you. Whatever happens next is the Goddess’s will,” she finished softly, Catherine looking at her with awe-struck eyes.

“L—Lady Rhea!?” Seteth and Catherine cried in unison, jaws gaping.

Rhea smiled at her. “It’s alright, you two. This is as it should be, I’m certain,” she said sweetly.

“Lady Rhea, please! I understand the signs are promising, but a bit of caution is surely—”

“Seteth, please. I’ve said it before: have some faith,” she offered, levelling a surprisingly pointed smile to her advisor, who visibly slumped, in either submission or frustration.

“As you say, Archbishop…” he murmured, exhaustion and misery staining his voice. “Please care for it? Them? They’re priceless artifacts of immeasurable value.”  
  
If this was a strategy to stop them asking questions, it was very effective.

“Of… course, we will treat it with the utmost respect,” Blythe offered awkwardly.

“Wonderful. With all of that being said, perhaps I could interest either of you in tea sometime, when we are not so busy,” chimed Rhea, an uncommonly warm smile on her face. “I believe that is all that needs to be discussed at this time; you are both dismissed. And do not fear, Catherine will deal with this rabble. You have both done well this day, Professors. Rest well,” she said kindly, her stiff posture even seeming to loosen as she spoke.

...They were being dismissed? She had been girding herself to be separated from Byleth, grilled and cross-examined and tricked into revealing more than she meant and being given nothing but an assurance that it was in her best interest to do so. The twins stood, confused as they looked to one another. This was all? They held a broken relic, and they got to keep it with a thank you and a pat on the back, job well done?

Yet she respected Rhea; Flayn respected her, and she had proven herself in title alone; she was Archbishop, and family besides.

But the woman was driving her to madness with the way she ran hot and cold, all dark secrets and smiling offers of tea-time.

It wouldn’t be so bad if she just _told_ them what they were being protected from; they weren’t children.

Blythe could feel her scent souring, and bitterly she hoped Rhea could smell it too.

“Understood. Thank you, Lady Rhea,” she said with cold bluntness, swiftly turning and matching her brother’s steps as they left the room.

As the door closed behind them, Blythe had to fight the urge to behave childishly; to slam her fist on the wall, curse someone’s name.

  
She didn’t think something as simple as Rhea behaving like that would leave her so off-balance. 

“ _Well, that’s one obstacle down,_ ” volunteered Sothis, floating peacefully above them. “ _Surprised she didn’t grill more; that’s my sword, after all, and she’s really interested in me,_ ” she grumbled softly as they walked downstairs and back into the open air.

“ _Interested how?_ ” inquired Byleth.

“ _She shares my blood, and searches for remnants of me,_ ” she said with a flightiness that made obvious how the thought bothered her. “ _I do not understand her. I do not know why she kept that sword there, or anything else._ ”

“ _You said that sword belonged to you. What did you mean?_ ” said Blythe, hands clasped in front of her as she stared out into the bright sunshine.

“ _It is a part of me,_ ” she said simply, staring off into the middle distance. “ _I knew it on sight; I do not remember anything about it, but I knew instantly that it was mine. I know nothing else but that it is mine._ ”

The twins were silent as they walked, legs taking them mechanically to the dining hall, now nearly empty after the speedy evacuation by the Knight, though, mercifully, the cooks remained. They proved overly generous in their portions, which made sense; it would be tragic to have an entire festival’s worth of food go to waste.

Merciful then that the ox-man from the Golden Deer was eating his impressive bodyweight in food with the rest of the Deer, Claude offering a lazy salute in turn.

Knowing an invitation when they saw one, the twins seated themselves across from Claude, as the rest of the class conversed around them.

  
“Some party, huh?” said Claude, tease evident from his smirk alone. 

“Free food at least,” Byleth pointed out as he bit into a honey roll.

“I trust your day was boring overall then, Claude?” inquired Blythe, nibbling at her rice omelette.

“They can’t all be grand adventures,” he said with a nonchalant half-shrug as he took a bite of what Blythe assumed was a bit of freshwater salmon from smell alone. “Raphael’s making the most of it, though. I swear he’s going to be the serving staff’s favorite person for all the disposal work he’s saving them.”

He paused in his eating to level them with one of those stares that Blythe couldn’t quite place. “Of course, I know the two of you can put away a fair amount yourselves,” he said with a carefully neutral voice. And then the corners of his eyes crinkled in a tell that they had come to read as he added, “I suppose that’s something to keep in mind when making dinner plans,” with an almost suggestive laugh.

“Are you planning to invite us to dinner, Claude?” asked Blythe neutrally, mirroring him in turn as she took another bite of her omelette.  
  
She was surprised to see the house leader gasp and frantically beat at his chest as he dislodged a piece of salmon he had attempted to swallow. When his life was no longer in danger, piece safely ingested, he looked between the two of them with a half-smirk she had never seen him wear before.   
  
“Why, uh, you lot want to try some home cooking?” he asked with a nervous laugh, eyes shifting between the two of them quickly. “Actually, it’s probably best we dodge that,” he ended up admitting sullenly. “I’m no chef, and neither is Hilda.”

“You two are close,” observed Byleth, spearing a piece of pasta thoughtlessly.  
  
“She’s my second in command; she may be a hassle, but she does good work when she wants to,” he offered, seeming to relax at the change in topic. “And _only_ when she wants to.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Hilda said from across the table, placing her cutlery down onto the table with a bit more volume than one would if they weren’t trying to garner attention. “I should hardly be doing any strenuous labor. It’s bad for a girl with a constitution like mine.”

“I think it just might help you to have your ‘constitution’ toughen up a little,” Claude said with a shrug as he twirled the fork in his hand. “Just saying.”

“A delicate noblewoman such as myself shouldn’t be doing anything that could get me sent to the infirmary or _worse_.”

“What, dead?”

“No, _dirty_.”

“Oh, no, we can’t have that,” Claude said with a comical amount of facetiousness in his voice as he shook his head and tutted.

“We really can’t. You just can’t begin to imagine how bad it would be for me.”

Claude took a scoop of tart filling and loaded it onto his spoon, bending it back as Hilda continued on, complacent in his concession and perhaps resting too comfortably on her laurels as it were.

“Believe me, you’d never hear the end of it from me, let alone _Holst_ —”

The spoonful of tart soared cleanly through the air across the table and hit Hilda’s forehead squarely, leaving a muss of red in her fringe as it slid off and onto her plate with an audible _splat_ that quieted the rest of the Deer at the table.

“What was that about Holst? I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,” Claude said, a saccharine smile plastered across his face.

“You’re _dead_ . You’re _so_ dead!” Hilda said, taking the handkerchief that Lorenz offered to her wordlessly and wiping her hair as best she could while uttering every conceivable threat in her vocabulary as Claude continued his meal with a grin that never once left his face.

Blythe and her brother ate in silence for a time, watching the verbal serving match as they cleaned their plates. It had, after all, been a taxing day, and entertainment in any form was a small blessing, even if it was at the expense of the students.  
  
“So, either of you big strong professors feel like taking a lonely noble out on a walk, away from pink-haired savages?” asked Claude, hands behind his head as he stretched. Hilda grumped, but did not rise to the bait.

“I’m afraid I still have a lesson plan to prepare for tomorrow,” said Byleth placidly.

Blythe looked more thoughtful. Perhaps a bit of peace and quiet away from all of this intrigue with Rhea could help.

It was about time for him to request his next favor, as well; a good time to solve that problem.  
  
“I can make time,” said Blythe softly. 

“Perfect!” cried Claude, arms outstretched, sliding out of his seat with an acrobatic roll backwards, landing cleanly on his feet. “Milady?” he offered in a grandiose mimicry of Lorenz, bowing with and outstretched over the table.

Blythe graced him with a small smile, but did not take his hand, standing and stepping out of her seat to walk around the table and stand next to him.

“And where does my prince in distress wish to go?” she asked, deadpan and with a quirked brow.

“Ah-ah, not a prince,” corrected Claude with a grin. “In line to be the next Sovereign Duke though! Maybe I can explain the difference someplace quieter.” 

“Lead the way, Sovereign Duke-to-be,” she drawled, nonplussed and following in his footsteps with a final wave to her brother, now being spoken to by Hilda who sent a particular digit flying into the air at Claude’s own wave goodbye to the deer.

They walked in silence for a time, Blythe following Claude as he led them wherever they were meant to go, the blade at her hip both too light and too heavy all at once.

“Weird sword you got there, Teach. Is it new?” asked Claude, not even looking at the item in question as they scaled stairs up to some mysterious place.  
  
“Got it today,” she said simply. They crested the top, reaching the battlements that surrounded Garreg Mach, sun setting over the horizon with a clear view for miles.

It was peaceful up here. The wind blew, and there was no one save for the occasional patrolling knight.

“Do you come up here often, Claude?” asked Blythe wistfully, smelling the trees down below with a nose she knew now without a doubt was stronger than before.

“Sometimes,” the boy admitted, leaning against the battlements, staring off to the East where the stars had started to blink in amid the creeping blue. 

“Is there a reason you wanted to talk to us, Claude?” murmured Blythe, leaning against the battlements in much the same way as Claude, a foot of distance between them.

Claude gave a solitary chuff of tired amusement. “Why do I ever do anything? Because I’m a busybody who wants to know what happened,” he said, turning to look at Blythe more closely, her eyes gleaming unnaturally in the fading light.

“You’re weird, and I like weird,” he said, a charming smile in place that seemed much more sincere than the grins she had come to expect from him. “But weird’s dangerous, too. Wanted to make sure you two were okay.”

He scratched at the back of his head, sighing. “Well, all of you, but I think I know you two well enough to say that you’d lose an arm before letting your little chicks get hurt.”  
  
Blythe looked at him in turn, in his golden half-cape and his styled hair. “Everyone’s alright,” she said quietly, fighting with the breeze to be heard so soft was her voice. “There was a strong opponent, but… he left before things got worse. And we got new swords,” she said simply.

Claude sighed softly, sinking down bonelessly onto the battlement. The wind changed, and his scent filled her lungs: Nag champa and amber, a soft bitterness, like old leaves in bad tea. He was sad, lonely.

She didn’t know how she knew that, but she trusted her instincts when they told her to grab his hand.

He lifted his head to look at her, eyes suddenly sharper, the liar’s smile on his face as he assessed her.

“We would lose an arm for you too, Claude,” she said simply. “We may not teach you, but we value you and your house very much. You have good students, and getting to teach them in our arrangement has been a pleasure,” 

She licked her lips, unaccountably shy. “Knowing you has been a pleasure, as well.”  
  
He looked at her then, a different look in his eyes, one she didn’t recognize. Searching, curious. His scent lost its bitter tang, to be replaced by something she couldn’t name.

She thought of Edelgard, then, looking at him gazing at their hands. She had wanted this with Edelgard, but then Edelgard didn’t want her; was she so wrong for wanting companionship, even if not with her?

Her heart ached guiltily. Even as she thought it, she knew she still wanted Edelgard; wanted her close, as close as she’d let her get, to care for her and be cared for in turn. But the feelings she felt for Claude were true as well.

If she couldn’t have one, she’d at least have the other.

“You’re both pretty amazing, y’know…” he murmured, voice taking on a tone she’d never heard him take before.   
  
“We have no choice. If we aren’t, people die,” she said bluntly. “We can’t let any of you die.”   
  
Claude gave another warm chuckle. “And so selfless, too,” he observed, staring down at their joined hands with an unreadable expression.   
  
“But what do _you_ want, Blythe? Not your brother, not what you think you should want. Just what would make you happy,” he asked, eyes searching but gentle. 

The question caught her off-guard. What _she_ wanted? Shouldn’t it have been obvious? She thought it was. So obvious she’d never really thought to put it into words.

What did she want? When the question was asked so baldly, she… she didn’t really know. She’d always just done what she had to in order to make sure Byleth and Father were safe, and they were happy.

She looked back up at the moon, eyes gleaming unnaturally in the light.

She wanted Edelgard, wanted to wash away her pain, and help her to shine like she deserved; to let Edelgard shape her in turn into something more. But she also was coming to realize she wanted Claude in much the same way, his secret pain calling to her, a kindred spirit who might understand her. She wanted all of her Eagles under her care forevermore.

None of it was simple anymore. She had to make decisions, and neither she nor her beast were pleased at the prospect.

All the same, the answer came to her from the pit of her stomach, bypassing her higher brain functions.   
  
“For you all to be safe and happy. For you all to be under my protection,” she said simply. Despite having never said the words before, she found that they rang true. She wanted the children to be safe, more than anything. To have them under her guard, so that anyone who dared cross them would have their throats ripped out in the service of preserving the happiness of those precious to her.

She felt the urges, the instincts stirring inside her as she thought of her “chicks” as Claude called them; her children, Byleth’s. Manuela’s, too. She saw those feelings for what they were, but even the part of her that was not an animal agreed.

Her instincts demanded she take them all under her wing, protect them, keep them safe, watch them blossom and flourish and raise themselves above even her.

“I’m selfish,” she murmured before she could stop herself, staring out to the waning half-moon above them. “I’m a killer who wants to protect, a murderer who wants to bring joy,” she continued, turning to send a self-deprecating smile Claude’s way.  
  
“Pretty stupid, huh?” she asked, her smile slowly slipping away as she felt herself fall into moroseness. She looked back to the moon, silent once more.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Claude murmured softly, sincerely in a way that made her stiffen.

“You’re a good woman, Blythe. You want to do good, even if you haven’t always in the past. That’s what being a good person is, at the end of the day,” he said, a solemn tinge to his voice as he too stared up at the moon thoughtfully.

“The both of you are hard on yourselves. That’s a good thing, most of the time. You’re leading kings and queens out there after all. But you’re still human. You’ve got to be willing to accept your failings and your moments of weakness. We’ve all got them, even Sovereign Dukes in waiting,” he said, injecting a touch of humor to his speech, matched with a cocky smile.

Despite his efforts, her mood only soured further. _If you only knew how human I was._

“You’re sweet, Claude. Sweeter than you’d like people to think, I’ll bet,” she said, something in her chest stirring as she thought of the boy, no, the young man in front of her. He was a good man. “But that’s not a bad thing.”

If she didn’t know with all her heart Edelgard needed her, she’d think maybe she’d made a mistake.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back,” she said gently, grabbing his hand once more, in a perhaps overly-familiar gesture she chose not to overthink.

The monastery looked so different at night, bathed in pale blues with disciplined shadows mirroring the architecture and greenery with ease. The two of them took a scenic route through the gardens, Blythe breathing in the smell of flowers appreciatively. “I like the smell of things,” she’d observed laconically.

When they made it to the dorms proper, she allowed Claude to lead them to his room, turning to stare at Blythe a trifle nervously as they stopped in front of his door.  
  
“This is me,” he stated, not quite matching his usual bravado.   
  
“So it is,” she echoed with a smile. Unprompted and with swift moves, she trusted her instincts once more. 

She slid past his guard effortlessly, wrapping her arms around him, nose against the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent once more. Nag champa. Amber. The shocked smell of fresh orange peels. She nuzzled into him, even as Claude made a shocked noise that wavered dangerously into a territory Blythe wasn’t sure she wished to dwell on.  
  
She pulled back, smile on her face. “I like the smell of you in particular, Claude. I won’t forget it; now I can find you anywhere,” she said, only half-joking. “You have a friend in us should you need it.”   
  
“Rest well,” she said finally, giving him a wave goodbye as he stood dumbstruck at his door. Blythe knew full well he had watched her all the way down the stairs and halfway into the courtyard, too.

She wondered if perhaps she had let her instincts play too freely, but she discarded the thought. The smell of old leaves displeased her, and she wanted to chase it away. Claude was — not _hers,_ but all the same she wanted him to be happy and safe and she had no qualms using the tools at her disposal to make it so.

If she enjoyed it perhaps more than a teacher should, well, that would be her secret.

The short walk to her own dorm at the other side of the complex was pleasant; there was a nervous thrill in her blood at what she’d done, how she’s so casually pushed the boundaries of their relationship, and how she simply didn’t mind that much.

She liked Claude. She wanted him in her group. She wanted to protect him, keep him close, scent him and remind everyone he was hers, just like her Eagles. 

She couldn’t steal him away from his house, leader that he was, but he was hers all the same, she decided simply.

She returned to her room with a spring in her step, Byleth scribbling at his desk as ever; he had said he had lesson plans to work through, and knowing him that meant he was working through the next week or two for preparedness’s sake.

“Hello, brother~” she said cheerily, kicking off her heels by the door, along with her sword belt. “Have fun with your lesson plans? Where’s Sothis?”  
  
“She said she was tired, like always,” he said, bored. “It seems that being a busybody takes a lot out of a ghost.”   
  
Blythe smiled at that, pleased to see her brother in what passed for good spirits for him. “You should have joined us. Claude and I had a nice time,” she said softly, hands clasped behind her back, almost shyly.   
  
Byleth turned from his work, looking at her with a bored, gimlet eye. “Oh?” was all he said, but she could tell that despite his terse response he was interested; that eye was for things he wanted to understand.   
  
“Yes. We took a stroll along the battlements, talked, I walked him back to his room, hugged him at his door…” she continued dreamily. Idly, she realized she hadn’t spoken in such a way with anyone but Edelgard.   
  
“You... hugged him,” her brother asked surprisingly stiffly.   
  
“Well, yes! I wanted to memorize his scent. He smells lovely,” she opined happily.

A coy grin slid onto her face as she remembered the soft noise of surprise he’d made, the sweet scent of orange peel at his surprise, and a pleasant one at that.  
  
“In fact, he’s so lovely I think I’ll keep him,” she said dreamily, falling backwards onto her bed, kicking her feet idly.

“Keep him?” her brother repeated, a shivering thread of danger sliding through his words.

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at the bottom of his bunk. “He’s nice, and I want him. I’ll keep him safe, don’t worry,” she said, her mind thinking about the things she would teach him and earn his smile.

She heard the sound of a chair being moved, and suddenly her brother stood over her, a baleful stare bearing down on her. “He’s not yours to claim, Blythe,” he said in a frosty tone he usually kept for their enemies.

She stilled, looking up at her brother with wide, confused eyes, something in the back of her head rousing quickly, a growl forming in the bottom of her lungs. “Oh? Says who?” she asked, meeting his eyes.  
  
“Me.”   
  
“And why is that, brother?” she asked, her own voice growing colder, as she seated herself properly on her bed.   
  
“Because you can’t have him,” her brother said, voice low and dangerous, only serving to pull the growl out of her chest as she rose up and stepped out of bed, staring up at her brother, her own eyes sharp and dangerous.   
  
“And why can’t I have him, By?” she asked, voice sweet, eyes cutting, muscles tense.

Byleth stood silent under her gaze, a sudden uncertainty coming over his face, evident in the set of his frown and the way he broke eye contact as he looked around for an answer.  
  
“Be—because you _can’t,_ that’s why,” he said, almost desperately.   
  
“Are you saying he wouldn’t want me?” she asked incredulously. “Claude wants to get closer, I know it, and I want to get closer too. Do you have a _problem_ with that, Byleth? Do you have an issue with your sister growing closer to Claude von Riegan? Because it sounds like you do,” she said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to bare them at her other half.

No, she couldn’t do that. They may be in a fight, but that was going too far.  
  
“You’d better explain to me slowly why you have a problem with this, or else I’m going to ignore you and do what I please,” she warned.

Byleth broke their gaze again, very unlike him. He looked around the room desperately as if looking for an out, hands twitching at his sides nervously. He almost never emoted this much, and despite her righteous indignation, she was suddenly worried why he was behaving like this.

He smelled like brine more than petrichor, the juniper she had come to know of him faded to a whisper.

  
“Byleth, you have to talk to me,” she said, some of her worry staining her voice. “What’s going on?”

“I—nothing’s going on. I just don’t want that,” he answered, almost petulantly. He still didn’t look at her, gripping his elbow, his own teeth grit in turn, like he didn’t understand why he was behaving this way either.

“Do you think he’d hurt me?” asked Blythe gently, hand over his where he gripped his elbow.

“No! No, stars no,” he objected, clasping her hand in both of his. “Nothing like that. He’s just…” he sighed, exhausted. “He’s good. If he gets involved with us, life will get harder for him.”  
  
“Us?” Blythe asked meaningfully, grabbing his chin and forcing him to lock eyes with her. “What do you mean ‘us?’” she asked intensely, anger forgotten to be replaced by burning inquiry.

“I—with either of us. If he got involved with either of us, life would get harder,” he stated with none of his usual grace.  
  


Blythe blinked, a slow horror crawling down her spine.

  
“Do… do you have feelings for him, Byleth?” she asked softly, looking into his eyes with all the kindness she could muster. “You can tell me, it’s okay,” she whispered before wrapping her arms around him, nuzzling into his neck, desperately hoping her fear and sadness and frustration at the realization was buried as deeply as she was trying to ensure it was.

His scent gave him away. Exhaustion, but also relief, and yet Blythe felt her heart break a little bit, all the same.

“You do…” she murmured, sorrowful.

“But I _want_ him, Byleth!” she whispered into his neck, almost petulantly, holding him tight, knowing she _couldn’t_ have him if her brother wanted him, too.

“...I do too,” he admitted as if torn from him with pincers, and Blythe realized she had been the one to do it. “So what do we do about it?”  
  
Blythe seated them both on her bed, pulling back to look at him seriously, and he in turn.

“I… I need him to be safe, Byleth. I want to be the one to keep him safe,” she said, leading with her prime concern. “He should be safe, and I know I could do it. I don’t like the idea of him being alone. He should be with me, where I can make sure he gets the training he needs.”  
  
Byleth nodded slowly, uncomfortably. “I feel… exactly the same way. He must be cared for,” he confirmed. “But I… Blythe, the thought of you, of _anyone… having_ him gets my blood up in a way I don’t understand,” he said miserably, clearly wrestling with the emotions, brackish salt evident in his scent, all but forcing her to nuzzle him to soothe him so unpleasant was the smell.   
  
“Calm yourself, By. It’s normal for… people like us, to be… possessive,” she said, picking her words carefully in a way that reminded her of him. “We want to form packs of our loved ones, to protect them and keep them safe… Flayn explained it to me, a little bit,” she whispered as gently as she could, nuzzling him until his scent regained the scent of juniper she so savored.

“It’s okay. I won’t… I won’t take him,” she promised, swallowing her own sadness, Byleth always coming first in her mind. “But… I need you to promise not to take him either. Or any of the Deer. Fair’s fair, you know?” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes, waiting for him to weigh her offer.

He seemed to consider it carefully, treating it with all the weight it deserved, yet despite herself, she had to be honest with him.  
  
“I can’t watch you take him either, if I can’t have him,” she whispered intensely, the beast whispering in her own head moaning unhappily at her decisions. “I don’t know what I’d do.”   
  
Byleth seemed to finally relax, deflating from his ramrod posture he always took when dealing with something heavy. “I don’t either,” he agreed tersely. 

Blythe did not smile at his compromise; she felt as if they were both losing something by not pursuing him, but… they were both savages in this. She knew she couldn’t stand to see them together, and she could only assume Byleth would feel the same if their positions were reversed.

This was the only safe way to approach the situation. They couldn’t hurt Claude, and both would suffer eternally for the good of the other.

It was for the best, but it didn’t feel that way.

Blythe wrapped her arms around herself feeling cold and frail. “... _Hug me?_ ” she asked softly, the knowledge that her last hug with Claude might have been her last filling her with cold sorrow.

Byleth did as he was bid, his strong arms wrapped around her, nose at her neck. “You smell like steel tonight,” he murmured softly as he nosed at her collar.

“It’s because I’m sad,” she murmured distantly, eyes unfocused as she stared off at nothing with her arms on her brother’s chest.

“You smelled better when you smelled like wet hay,” he grumped, giving a particularly strong rub at her neck, making her give an undignified snort.  
  
“High praise,” she intoned, slowly wrapping her arms around Byleth’s waist. Wordlessly, Byleth pushed her down onto her pillow, standing to blow out the candle at his desk and change into his nightshirt. Blythe did the same, before waiting expectantly for him to return to her arms.

  
He seated himself at the bedside, before carefully arranging himself to hold her close once more.

Her heart ached, but this made it better. No matter what, Byleth would be first among her Pack, and she would care for him first and foremost; thinking of it that way made their mutual decision more palatable for her as the clean smell of petrichor returned to his scent.  
  
He looked at her then, surprise in his eyes.   
  
“Blythe… your eyes are gleaming,” he stated, naked disbelief in his tone.

Blythe blinked. “What? What are you talking about? Maybe it’s just to do with the light? The moon must be very bright,” she explained quite reasonably to her own ear.  
  
Byleth shook his head slowly. “It’s as dark as it ever is, Blythe.”

Blythe blinked once more at that, unsure of how to respond. “I… then, I don’t know. Everything looks so clear…” she murmured, looking at her brother. “Everything looks like it does in early dusk, so I can still see you completely clearly,” she explained, more curious than alarmed.

“Your eyes are glowing like a cat’s,” he stated bluntly. “Did Flayn mention anything about… this? For ‘ _people like us_ ’ _?_ ” he asked pointedly.   
  
She shook her head, frowning at his tone. “No. But we can ask her. Together, if you want,” she said, trying to be peaceable about this.

Byleth grunted. “Maybe for the best. Are… _my_ eyes going to do that soon?” he asked, discomfort evident in his voice.   
  
Blythe shrugged. “Probably,” she admitted, the hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corner of her mouth. “Then you’ll look even more like a cat, sourpuss.”

Her pillow was unceremoniously pulled from under her head, and then mashed into her face. “Shush,” Byleth said, without heat.  
  
“But the cats will love you even more now!” she cried, muffled by the pillow.

After a bit of half-hearted struggling, Byleth let her out from under her pillow, laying down beside her, staring up at the bottom of his bunk thoughtfully.

“Did it hurt?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Now that I think about it, my eyes ached a bit over the last few weeks, but it was nothing I gave any thought to,” she answered honestly. “Don’t be scared; I was out in the sun with you too, and I didn’t notice anything different, so it’s not affecting my how I see during the day, at least,” she said, doing her best to address what she imagined his concerns to be.   
  
Byleth was a bit vain, but there was not much she could do about eyeshine, so she could put his tactical mind at ease somewhat. “I can see everything clearly, though. This will make a big difference in night missions,” she said, turning over to place an arm on his chest, breathing in the smell of him.

He gave a small, noncommittal hum in return, but he was calm now at least.

“ _I still love you best_ ,” she said softly after a silence . “ _That will never change._ ”

Byleth wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. “I know. I do, too.”

  
Quietly, they let sleep claim them, curled into each other, safe and warm in the night as their chests rose and fell there together.


	19. Crestfallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crest Politics, featuring Miklan formerly of House Gautier

If he wanted to appear the picture of dedication the Archbishop seemed to require of him, Byleth supposed he should be expected to wake up early.

He also figured that this idealized version of himself would be found by a more diligent student at the training grounds, already drenched in sweat as the first rays of light began to filter in, heralding the dawn.

The Archbishop would have to get used to being disappointed, though, because Byleth avoided anything that would sully his day so early, especially in a way that involved a proper soiling. It would only serve to foul his mood.

No, he preferred to start his day by washing away the one before, and in the most literal of senses.

Blythe had at one point in his life given him a hard time for losing sleep in favor of personal hygiene, what with how she preferred to curl up in her blanket bundle for an extra hour or two. He couldn’t fault her, really, as he felt tempted to do the same on chillier, rainier days when the distant rumble of thunder beckoned him back into slumber and dreams of water running in rivulets down his face.

Perhaps that was why he enjoyed the showers provided at the monastery, even if they ran with the frigid water offered by the Oghmas. It was a luxury he hadn’t been afforded in travelling with his father’s mercenary band, and so he found those misty mornings less and less alluring.

He lamented all the mornings he’d lost to excessively late nights or his forays down to Abyss, but he supposed he could pay for an even earlier morning in exchange for ever having bagless eyes. Nothing a good moisturizing couldn’t remedy, if his experience was anything to go by. Or perhaps it was just his wishful thinking.

Either way, it seemed to take entirely too long for him to strip down, and he briefly considered forgoing the process entirely just to get in sooner, leaving his henley and smallclothes to be peeled off his skin later, but alas, it would only inconvenience him further for what would come after.

He sucked in a sharp breath as the icy water fell over him, something that he would have cursed in his youth, but he had come to find the cold bracing, waking him up and putting him in the right mindset to grapple with whatever the day had in store for him.

There was a small part of him, however, that acknowledged that lately he had needed… more.

Byleth sighed, rubbing at his face before he stepped back out, wrapping himself up in a towel to make his way to the baths. Not that a towel would do him much good once inside, though, communal as they were, but the early hour would provide him enough privacy in modesty’s absence. Though it was less for shame and more for the fact that he didn’t need any chance encounters like one would hear of in raunchy, lowbrow tavern rags while holding a professorship at Garreg Mach of all places.

Not that they hadn’t happened elsewhere, but that was then, and he was here in the present.

He stepped out onto the stairs that led into the pool before he let out a deep breath as he allowed himself to sink into the warm water.

This is what he had been missing, he thought, as he slowly felt his muscles relax and untighten in the calor. He closed his eyes once more, taking slow breaths in and out through the steam.

A brief respite.

His eyes fluttered back open, at length, and he waded over to the soaps and oils. If allotted the opportunity, he would explore every bar and bottle, but he doubted his nose would take to it well, let alone others’. He uncorked one of the ewers, pouring the contents into his hands and bringing it to a lather before taking it to his hair.

A decent shampoo had always been hard for them to come by, and Byleth had spent no small amount of gold to ensure he at least had the most basic bottle with him. On special occasions, he would get one that was more expensive, and usually as a gift, but he had never been able to get his hands on a good pre-mask. He supposed he should have looked into more places frequented by nobles and other people of coin.

Or a whorehouse, as his sister had teased. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how Blythe did it, rolling out of bed and maybe taking a brush to her hair for a stroke or two before deciding she was ready to face the day. He distinctly remembered a time when she had sat up on her bedroll covered in dirt and told him that it was simply a “healthy coating of earth.”

It disgusted him how his sister could live like that when his entire attitude could sour from a greasy scalp, he thought as he massaged the shampoo into it before dunking his head into the water. She could have dust on her breath and be happy while he had a desperate need to smell a vernal mountainside.

Well, to each their own, he supposed as he began scrubbing the rest of himself down. The summer sun had been kind to him despite how fair he was, though he’d seen his fair share of children and mercs alike turn to beets from alabaster. But strangely, in a way that almost seemed unfair, he and his sister both seemed rather to thrive in it. Laugh or talk as his father’s men may, at least he and Blythe wouldn’t be the ones to fall faint from locking their knees like some kind of unstudied rookie.

Even if some of them would make snide comments about his bathing habits. Or worse, he recalled, stewing in the memories therein as he grabbed an untouched pumice rock and took to his heel. Not that he couldn’t hold his own and bite back. He made a habit of dealing back worse than he got, ensuring that he wouldn’t be devalued or demeaned in any way. He wasn’t the only one who bled, after all, and his father didn’t suffer fools in his company.

Not to mention his sister.

His sister, as ever, had been his stalwart protector, not that he’d needed it.

She was more vicious than him by half; when the teasing had started, she had taken it more than a bit personally. The first merc to mock his regimen had roused his lazing sister in the stream, the only steps in her own routine soaping her hair and a solid soak.

She’d asked him to repeat himself. He had seen no issue in repeating his derision to a fourteen-year-old girl in naught but a towel, but in three steps she’d sent him to the floor and broken his pinky “to get the message across,” she’d said with the unnaturally still face they were best known for.

Then she’d said if anyone ever spoke to him again to let her know and handed him the completely wrong bottle for his step in his routine, thoughtful in all the right ways, but lacking in… other, more observant ways.

Even if he’d felt it was a bit excessive for the situation, but he couldn’t lie; he’d been touched by her worry and support, even if she didn’t understand, or even have any interest in her own hygiene beyond the basics. She supported his decision thoughtlessly. It was him, so it was important to her.

Though his sister had been on his mind more often than usual, of late.

A lot was changing, and prime among them was his sister herself.  
  
She… smelled him now, her eyes shone in the dark, she spent time with Flayn more often… 

But he was changing, too, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that. He also smelled things that made little sense beyond the poetic, and he was becoming more tactile like his sister.

His instincts were becoming dangerous.

The last time he had sparred with Dimitri in private at his student’s request, it had awakened something in him, and it had taken great effort to restrain. In a masterstroke he hadn’t considered, Dimitri had managed to disarm him, to their mutual pride, and he’d had to fall back to hand-to-hand combat, trying to make his lance a liability.

But when he’d gotten close enough, he’d _smelled_ him, and every hair on his body stood on end: Cold air, encompassing, frosty and pure; the scent of salt and sweat, and the subtle scent of pitch beneath it all, almost invisible.

Fire had blazed through his veins and he’d thrown him to the floor with raw strength alone, so unlike his usual approach. When he’d gone to knee to make him yield it took all he had not to _bite_ him like some sort of animal with all the self control of a teething child.

He wondered if Blythe felt the same instincts he did, if _people like them_ , as she called them, all felt these things.

Their disagreement about Claude suggested she felt something like it, which did not soothe him necessarily, but misery loves company.

He let out a heavy sigh. This line of thinking would get him nowhere but down a spiral, and he wasn’t of any mind to try to claw his way out. He pulled himself up onto the stone lip at the edge of the water and dabbed off some of the water with a towel before applying a fragrant oil to his skin. He’d wasted enough time as it was, and more people would come in as the sun rose higher. Better to wrap up before they filed in.

Well, at least he’d smell nice, even if a bit overpowering. He’d get used to it.

He redressed himself and made his way out of the bathhouse, choosing to go to the gardens to watch the world wake up. It was another one of the small pleasures an early rise brought him, and it was also one he was loath to relinquish. He liked seeing the flowers open for the first beams of light, hearing the birds begin their song, smelling the scents that wafted from the first fires in the dining hall… 

It granted him a sense of peace amidst the storm that swirled around him. He took a deep breath, noting all the different smells from the garden. Lilies, hyacinths, roses, honeysuckle, and… something that was not a flower at all, he realized and turned to see a familiar mop of red hair sitting amongst the green.

“Sylvain?” Byleth said, drawing the kid’s attention away from a piece of paper he held. “It’s rather uncharacteristic of you to be up so early.”

“I’d say the same of you, Teach, but you and I both know that would be, well, wrong,” he replied as Byleth took a seat next to him on the bench.

“Not the light reading you thought it’d be, I take it?” he asked, referring to the paper in his hands.

“This? It’s nothing, just a letter from my f— from Margrave Gautier,” Sylvain replied with a half-shrug. “So I guess in a way, you’re right.”

“What did the Margrave say?” Byleth asked, choosing his words carefully in efforts to remain neutral.

Sylvain huffed at that. “More like what does he _want_ ,” he corrected. “He doesn’t ask for much.”

Byleth wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but he supposed it mattered little in the end. “And what might that be?”

“Mostly to complain about my older brother and how he’s been causing problems for everyone and their grandma. Nothing new worth writing to me about,” Sylvain answered, waving his hand in a way that told Byleth there was something more to it that he didn’t want him to know.

“Hardly seems a letter worth losing sleep over if so,” Byleth ventured carefully.

Sylvain scoffed good-naturedly. “Clearly you haven’t met my older brother,” he said darkly. 

“Older brother?” Byleth repeated. “I was under the impression you were the heir to House Gautier.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said in a rare show of laconism. “It’s a long story, and not a good one. But there are a million others like it.”

Byleth was sure that would be one of those moments where he would have smelled something sour or otherwise unpleasant, but the only thing that his nose revealed was Sylvain’s overpowering cologne, something he would have he would have to give him some advice on at another time.

Awkwardly, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Well… if you’d ever wish to talk about it with someone… I’m here,” he offered uncomfortably. He wished he was better at helping his students with these sorts of problems, but as it stood, he only seemed equipped to help them deal with the worst of it and not things that led up to it.  
  
Sylvain gave a fond scoff. “Well, thanks Professor. I’ll keep that in mind. It’s just more of the same for me, is the thing. I’m used to it; this is just kind of everything finally coming to a head,” he sighed, deflating. “I’m just… tired, that’s all.” 

For once, however, his instincts seemed to offer a piece of meaningful advice, watching his lion cub so sad and trying to be strong.

He reached forward, firmly grasping his shoulder, Sylvain looking up at him in surprise.  
  
“And if you need someone in your corner… the Blue Lions are there,” he said seriously, formally. “We won’t let you suffer alone, so don’t even try.”   
  
Sylvain looked at him, face unreadable, mouth parted. “I… I’ll remember that, Professor,” he said softly, staring down at his shoes. “...I might end up needing to lean on you all, then.” 

“We’ll be here,” Byleth said, giving his shoulder a light pat. “Now go clean up before someone catches you up before morning mess.”

A laugh escaped Sylvain’s throat. “Of course, Professor. I have a reputation to keep,” he said, the two of them getting up and exchanging waves before they parted ways.

It was strange, honestly, seeing this side of the young man for how relaxed and laid back he was normally, provided he wasn’t bothering other students or girls in the town, so Byleth felt a little justified in his worries, even if he didn’t know what precisely was wrong. He only hoped that whatever was going on, whatever was troubling him, wouldn’t come to a head.

There was something about it that gave him the impression that this was something that lay deeper, something that lay hidden.

He shook his head. He needed to stay focused. If Sylvain wanted his help, he would ask for it. He needed to believe that. 

After all, he wasn’t that scary, was he?

The thought made him uncomfortable, so he quickly discarded it.

It was a quiet morning. The skies were overcast, the sun’s heat present but not its light. Rain was coming.

With aught else to do, fully awake and prepared for the day, he went by the dining hall. They would not be officially open for another half-hour or so, but even if they wouldn’t serve him, a Professor could at least seat himself and wait.

It was a strange experience, sitting alone in the vast hall. All was silent save for the sound of sizzling meat and cutting knives that reached him where he sat, but that only served to make the entire experience all the more surreal. 

As strange a thought as it was, he was eager for his noisy lions to come join him. He missed their teasing, their jocular boasts… 

It was with some relief that he saw Mercedes and Annette as the first students to make it through the doors, quickly followed by others. He gave them a quick wave, the smiles breaking out on their faces at the sight of him bringing a warmth to his chest.

“Professor!” Annette called delightedly, “You’re here early today!”

“Yes, well, my schedule calls for early mornings,” he said simply in a way that was purposefully vague. “By any chance did either of you have kitchen duty yesterday? I’m not sure what the chefs have planned for today,” he admitted, deftly changing the subject.

Mercedes gave a thoughtful hum, finger at her cheek. “Well, I know Ingrid helped with meal preparation yesterday, so I know that it’s something with fruit, but honestly I’m at a loss myself.”

“Ooh! What if it’s fruit tarts?” Annette gasped, her eyebrows seeming to shoot right into her fringe.

“I think that would be just lovely,” Mercedes replied. “But I doubt they’ll be as sweet as the ones you make.”

“What, mine? I don’t think I have anything on a professional’s work,” Annette said with the disbelief that she always expressed when given any sort of compliment. It hurt his heart a little to think that someone so bright would think so little of themselves, but they all had their vices to overcome, he supposed.

“Come now, don’t sell yourself so short, Annie. I know Lysithea really liked those cannolis you made last week. She ate them so quickly, I feared we wouldn’t get the plate back,” Mercedes replied.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have been able to make the shells without your help, Mercie,” she answered, frowning about as pitifully as one could when discussing sweets. “And I just know that whatever dessert Dedue and Ashe whip up tonight is going to make me wish I’d never tried.”

Byleth opened his mouth to protest, but it seemed Mercedes would beat him to it: “Annette, I’ve never once known you to give up on anything. You’re very dedicated and hard-working even when things seem a bit steep, but you fight hard anyway and always come out with the best. It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

Mercedes had a way of being stern with her gentleness that made people listen, and listen Annette had if the way her eyes seemed to sparkle was any indication. Not to mention the blush that was beginning to take over her face. “Gee, Mercedes, I-I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I have for a while,” she replied with a smile that said more than her words.

“Oh, um… me, too,” Annette said, her smile matching her rosy cheeks.

“Well now I just feel like I’m interrupting something,” came a new voice, Ingrid’s this time as she sat down at the table with them, tray loaded with not tarts but fruit-covered pancakes. “I apologize.”

“There’s no need, Ingrid, really,” Mercedes said, standing up from the table. “Annie and I were just going to queue up.”

“Right,” Annette agreed, taking the hand Mercedes offered her and standing up as well before the two of them walked away.

“They seem cheery,” came Ashe’s voice as he sat down, Dedue and Dimitri close behind.

Byleth shrugged. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t be. It’s a lovely morning.”

“I dunno about that. Looks pretty gloomy out there if you ask me,” Sylvain said as he joined them.

Ingrid leveled him a punitive stare that served as the only warning he was likely to get, making him out up his hands in a show of pacifism.

“Geez, alright, I get the message. Yikes,” he said, turning his attention to his plate.

She continued to stare at him, searching his face for signs of deceit before she squinted at him in confusion. “Why are there dark circles under your eyes? Did you stay up all night again with a girl? Ugh, I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

“I’d be more worried about the Professor, if that were the case. His room is below Sylvain’s,” Dimitri said in a way that felt more like a deflection than anything, making Sylvain look as though the realization might make him choke.

“N-no, it wasn’t that, I swear,” Sylvain said, suddenly of a mind to fight back. “Well, not last night, anyway. I was just having trouble sleeping.”

“Why, did the weight of all your actions finally come crashing down?” Ingrid scoffed.

Sylvain opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped when a familiar looming figure stopped next to him at the head of the table.

He sat there dumbly for perhaps a second too long before his wits returned to him. “Felix! You’re here early. Didn’t want to get your morning sword practice i—”

“Quit your yammering, Sylvain,” Felix said with all the tact of a slap to the face. “Tell me why I received a letter from my father about how Margrave Gautier is sending _you_ to aid him in a task _he_ should be handling on his own.”

The eyes of all the Lions fell on Sylvain as an anticipating silence overtook the table, even Annette and Mercedes choosing to stand with their trays and await an answer rather than sit. It all weighed rather heavily, and at length, it seemed to be enough to make him cave with a sigh. “[meh]”

“In Fraldarius territory? I think the Margrave should be more concerned with his own affairs. My father can take care of this,” Felix said, an accusation hidden beneath a veil.

“Trust me, Felix, I need to take care of this one,” Sylvain said, trying to placate him and failing.

“ _Need_ to?” Felix repeated. “Why? There’s a bandit at Conrad Tower, and your father wants you to handle it?”

“Conrad Tower? That’s on the border of Galatea territory,” Ingrid said.

“Precisely,” Felix said, crossing his arms. “It’s not a Gautier matter.”

“It is,” Sylvain said morosely as he pushed a blackberry across his plate. “More than you know.”

Byleth furrowed his brow, his mind returning to the conversation they’d carried in the gardens before the sun had peaked over the summits along the horizon, and he had to wonder, though the more they volleyed back and forth, the more connected things began to seem.

“Then what don’t I know, Sylvain?” Felix said, more accusation than a request for clarification.

“It’s Miklan,” Sylvain said. “He’s been ransacking the villages around there, so yes, it is my problem.”

“No, it’s mine and Ingrid’s problem.”

“He’s a Gautier.”

“Last I checked, he wasn’t,” Felix said pointedly. “Not anymore.”

“He’s my _brother_ , Felix.”

“And that makes him worthy of meddling in someone else’s affairs?”

“He stole the Lance,” Sylvain said, cold and sharp, severing the chain that pulled them back and forth. “So, yes, it _is_ a Gautier matter.”

There was another silence that fell over them, an apprehensive one that none dare break for fear of lighting the powder keg between them.

Felix scoffed, letting his arms fall to his sides before resting a fist on his hip. “So you’re going, then.”

“Yes, I am,” Sylvain said with finality, taking a bite of his breakfast as if to punctuate. “My father’s tired of all the disgrace he’s brought to our House. It’s time to put him down.”

He said it like one would about a lame horse or rabid dog, but something in his words gave the impression of an echo, like the sound of a stone tossed into a pool whose depths gave way to inscrutable fathoms beyond where the eye could see. This was something beyond a repetition of his father’s words, something deeper.

Byleth would just have to cast a stone to tell _how_ deep.

“Then we leave today.”

“What?” Sylvain said, his eyebrows shooting up as he and everyone else turned to look at him.

“I said we leave today,” Byleth repeated. “So all of you eat your fill and then go ready your equipment and supplies.”

“But Professor, won’t the Archbishop object to us leaving on such short notice?” Annette asked.

“She’s never minded when we’ve gone on excursions on our free days before,” he said. “I don’t see why she would start now.”

“Well… if the Professor thinks it’ll be fine, then I see no reason why we shouldn’t,” Dimitri hummed.  
  
He stood, plate cleaned. “ Then it’s settled. Now finish your meals and prepare . We leave before noon,” he said definitively, doing his best to keep a surreptitious gaze on Sylvain. Even he could tell this was a matter which bothered him sincerely, so he would have to do his best to keep him safe.   
  
He would not allow another Lion to endure a nightmare.

He stepped out of the mess hall without another word, face carved of granite as he returned to the room he and his sister shared. He would bring a few things with him, some flint, gauze, a few vulneraries, enough gold to secure them lodging for a night or two, and the Sword.

It sat propped up against the wall next to the desk, its glow ebbing and flowing in the same way someone would draw in breath and exhale. Like a pulse it shared with the edge that lay next to it.

His mind turned to Blythe. She would be at her seminar by now, listening to Manuela speak on how her experience shaped her battle strategies. He hated leaving her. Even when they were mercenaries, Jeralt understood how much they disliked being separated and only did it when necessary. It felt unnatural to them both.

Once he’d packed everything away, he made his way to the stables to group up with his students. Everyone was packed smartly, and he was pleased his Lions could prepare and be ready to leave with only a moment’s notice. They’d even already saddled the horses.

“Alright, Lions,” he began, stepping forward. “We’re headed to Fraldarius territory. This is a live steel training mission; we’re to expect a sizable bandit force with more than adequate outfitting, so expect more resistance than our last foray.”

They all regarded him with a certain reverence that one wouldn’t quite expect from students of a professor or mentor but perhaps rather like soldiers receiving their marching orders, and Byleth felt a mix of pride and apprehension at this realization.

But he would have to swallow this down. Best not to dwell.

“Move out, Lions,” he ordered with an outstretched hand once he’d seated himself on his horse. He still didn’t care for horses in combat, but he was not so foolish as to deny their convenience given that their journey would be on the lengthier end.

The trek was manageable, even if the air was heavy under the cloud cover, but he knew humidity would sap the water out of a marcher just as easily as the sun, and silently. Though all told, they were making good time.

“Sylvain, Felix,” he called, summoning two of his worst troublemakers.

“Yeah?” grumbled Felix. 

“Tell me about where we’re headed: landmarks, forces, relevant tactical information, anything,” he said simply. “The same for you, Sylvain, what do we know?”

“Not much to say,” Felix said, bored. “It’s grasslands around there. The only relevant thing beyond a few villages here and there is the tower. I forget why it’s there, but it’s pretty big, defensible. If I was a bandit, I’d hole up there.”  
  
“Sylvain?” Byleth prompted.   
  
“If Miklan’s involved, I’ll bet money he’s in that tower. The letter I got said he had formed an entire clan, and they could use the space. He’s not stupid, so he’ll have set them up in easily defendable positions like bottlenecks or where they’d have the higher ground,” he said, voice uncommonly stern and serious as he spoke of his brother.

Byleth nodded. “That’s enough to work out a plan, then. Go discuss it with Dimitri, and we’ll compare notes,” he stated, staring up at the mountain range that heralded the Kingdom’s lands.

He had a bad feeling about this. He truly wished to keep his lions safe, but he had a sinking feeling. He was one of the Ashen Demons; he would sooner die than fail in his task. They would not be harmed under his watch.

But the ride was uneventful. His students talked, much less of the nervousness present than the last time they had passed through the region, but all the same when they were recognizably in Farghus territory there was a marked dip in conversation. He wouldn’t force the chatter if they couldn’t muster it, though.

If they preferred to ride in silence, then he would let them.

At length, the tower came into view, imposing as it was on the horizon over the ravaged town beneath it. Byleth had seen vistas like this many times, and they had long since stopped registering for him as horror, which he supposed could be counted as one on its own. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, when seeing the results of a preventable tragedy had failed to elicit anything beyond pity.

It was a reality of conflict that he had come to accept, one that he’d accepted as inevitable rather than one that could be actively combatted.

He would not allow his Lions to fall into this hole with him.

The glint of armor ahead caught his eye as he approached. Full knight’s plate? There was no way these bandits were so well-equipped. He signalled for his Lions to keep back, Ashe still nocking an arrow for safety’s sake.

“You there,” called Byleth. The man turned, surprise in his eyes as he looked them all over.  
  
“Reinforcements from Garreg Mach? I did not think they would send students for something so dangerous… ” said the red haired man, looking them over with perplexion in his brow before he shook his head. “Forgive me. I had been expecting the Knights or soldiers from House Galatea.”   
  
“I can assure you my students are capable enough for the undertaking,” Byleth said. “The Blue Lions stand ready.”

“The Blue Lions?” the man repeated. “You must be one of the new professors. Knight-Captain Jeralt speaks well of you and your sister.”

“I hope we exceed expectations, Sir.”  
  
The man’s face tightened. “Ah, forgive me; Gilbert Pronislav: Knight of Seiros, part-time instructor,” he explained. “I was out here for reconnaissance regarding the Lance-thief and his forces.”   
  
“What have you learned?”   
  
“Very little, I am afraid. The bulk of the forces seem to be sequestered on the upper floors of the tower and only come down to pillage when they’re low on foodstuff and ale. I only wish I had more, but as the Tower is trapped, I don’t risk further scouting without numbers to back me up,” he explained.   
  
“What about their leader? You know, the rough-looking one with the scraggly red mop and the glowing family heirloom that he stole,” Sylvain said, coming to join them. “If we take him down, the rest of them crumble.”

“He’s likely in the thick of the worst of them,” Gilbert said, “so I would advise against rushing in.”

“Then… what? I just want to get this over with so that the Margrave can go back to having the perfect, upstanding family that he treasures so much,” Sylvain said. “The Gautier name’s had enough slag thrown at it.”

Gilbert made a noise of understanding. “I see; I suppose I can’t begrudge someone for wanting to redeem their name…” he said, eyes seeming to go glassy for a moment before he returned to himself. “Whatever the case, the bandits are not much past a standard clan. Miklan runs them well, but their numbers are not insurmountable, I should assume, given the number they send out every now and again. I’ve estimated perhaps two dozen stay in the Tower.”

Byleth put a hand to his chin in thought. “We can work with that. Only one point of ingress?”  
  
“Yes. We have no option but the straightforward approach,” Gilbert said with a nod. “Likely, our best bet is to invade once they’re out, disarm the traps, neutralize the skeleton crew and wait in ambush for the rest.”

“And they’re gone, as of now?” Byleth confirmed.  
  
“Yes. They won’t be back till sundown.”   
  
Byleth gave a cleansing sigh, Sothis appearing from that unseen aether to float by him with sharp eyes. “Well, let’s get to it then; no time like the present and we’re burning daylight.”   
  
“Alright, Lions,” he said, stepping off his horse and giving the beast a firm pat as he called his students to gather around him. “Our objective is the top of that tower. We don’t anticipate a large force, but be careful and look out for traps. This will be different from the last time; these are bandits. They’re seasoned fighters who know how to fight, and they will want us dead, so do not hesitate. Trust in your training, and trust in your comrades. We’re going to move forward steadily, with Gilbert, the Knight supporting our rear.”

“Alone?” Annette all but squeaked, to his surprise. She was a great soldier, but she rarely contributed to planning.

“P-perhaps Sir Gilbert could use a partner at the rear,” she said, voice shaky but clear. “I-I know a bit of faith magic, and I can fight; one person against reinforcements is a dangerous gamble,” she said, seeming uncertain despite the good sense in her words.  
  
Byleth leaned back. “A fair point. Annette, you can support Sir Gilbert from the rear. Don’t worry, she’s a skilled mage, so you can count on her for support.” 

Despite what he assumed would be a relieved nod, what he received was more like an ashen head drooping in an approximation of acceptance. “Yes, very — very well, Professor,” he said, voice craggy. The two of them stared at one another, an unreadable tension sparking between them. 

If they weren’t about to enter a heavily trapped bandit stronghold, he might have stopped and tried to figure out what was going on between two people so hardly alike.

“Standard formation, Lions: armored units up front, horseback behind, followed by strikers and ranged units. As ever, keep the healers safe,” he explained with rote ease. 

Without further ado, Dimitri and Dedue stepped forward, slowly forcing the heavy stone doors open with ease.

“Felix, special assignment: Keep an eye out for traps and work to disarm or notify us of them. The same goes for everyone else, too, however.”  
  
The bottom floor was a ghost town, from what they could see, even more so when Gilbert closed the door behind them, placing a nearby beam of wood into place to ensure they remained closed for a while longer, leaving them with the only light in the tower being the torches that surrounded them.

By rights and despite the clutter and detritus left by its current occupants, Byleth had to admit it was a beautiful tower, even if he still had no idea what purpose it was meant to serve, with its strange location and bizarre architecture. 

Alas, that was about all the idle musing he had time for: a shout echoed from somewhere in the tower, their presence noted and the residing bandits displeased. He unsheathed the Sword.

“Move,” he ordered in a low voice. 

They were off; Felix moved like a wraith, leaping from shadow to shadow in a way he had never taught him, sharp golden eyes hunting for traps with his sword drawn.  
  
The group made slow but steady progress through the first floors; Felix caught traps, and the team withstood arrow fire with little issue; they were not yet high enough to give the archers a good shot, only heralding their positions.

It was at the second floor where the traps began in earnest; log swings, crossbows set to tripwires… the lethality of the simple tricks were proven to Byleth painfully when Felix tripped a crossbow trap, taking three bolts all up his torso, with only Sothis to save him. 

It was with that heart-stopping event that he sharpened their formation, ordering Felix to slow his pace, which drew an annoyed scoff out of him. All the same, he continued dismantling the larger traps with Dedue and Dimitri heroically deflecting the more minor ones.

At the end of the next turn was their first group of bandits, positioned in clear archer’s line.

Now the fight would start properly, it seemed; in the middle distance he could still see a delicate string, impudent in its glimmer. Thoughtlessly, he flung a weak fire spell towards it, clinching the trap, sending a thick lock swing down horizontally across the passage, acting as solid cover as they pushed on.  
  
“Break for the side passages and prepare for resistance!” he cried, voice like steel as he ran for the log, eyes still sharp for any archers eagle-eyed enough to send a good shot past the thing covering their chests but not their knees or heads.

“Keep low and move fast!”

Byleth kept tight against the log, preparing to put something to the test. He had not had cause to use the Sword of the Creator since the Mausoleum, and he wanted to see how it fared in more common kinds of combat.

Quickly, he ducked out from behind the log as he covered Mercedes’s run to the side passage, and with a vicious thrust, the Sword seemed to _stretch,_ to perhaps a dozen times its length, spearing cleanly through one of the archers to the foul-mouthed surprise of their compatriots. 

Byleth ran for the side passage as well, satisfied to see the best-laid plans of the bandits backfiring on them.

The sudden shift in combat paradigm was almost jarring; the hallways grew tight now, leaving them hardly any room to maneuver. He was proud to see the marching order he had drilled into them holding perfectly, however; with him behind Mercedes and Dimitri and Dedue first in line, narrow or not, they could take damage and dish it out reliably.

Distantly, he hoped Annette and Gilbert were doing alright; he had no reason to doubt Gilbert’s competency, but one never knew what went wrong, especially when he didn’t have direct visual.

“What do you call someone who robs a thief?” inquired a booming voice from above them, giving them pause. “A _thief_ , that’s what.”   
  
He punctuated it with a cruel laugh. “Keep climbing and I’ll show you how much rot it all is!” the voice roared. He saw Sylvain pale from where he stood in the line in front of Ingrid.

That must be Miklan, then.  
  
“Keep focused, Lions. An unbalanced fighter is a dead one,” he urged, watching as Dimitri ran through a beefy axe-man who clearly underestimated how much strength his blond cub held in his deceptively thin body.

Dedue guarded his charge ferociously, keeping anyone from getting near Dimitri as he easily dispatched anyone who approached his flank.

A warm, savage pride bloomed in his chest; from where he was, Byleth could hardly do anything, but he didn’t need to. Dimitri, Dedue, Sylvain, his front-line, fought like warriors to match any of his father’s mercenaries. 

These were _his_ lions. _He_ taught them this and they fought so beautifully, applying his principles masterfully. His heart sang at the thought of his lions being strong enough to fend for themselves, put to rest a worry he didn’t know had been hiding traitorously in the back of his mind.

They fought through the tower as a well-oiled machine, Miklan heckling bitterly all the while.

Distantly, he was surprised at what he saw on the top floor: not much of anything, altogether. Just more tents, a burnt out fire, and Miklan alone. Was he the sort who wished to die honorably? Was he stalling for time? 

“Miklan,” called Sylvain, stepping forward, wresting him from his thoughts.

His face was vulnerable; he feared what was coming now.

“Aww, hey Sylvana! How’s my favorite little thief?” inquired the scruffy man before him sweetly; his face was marred by a great scar, he was perhaps a bit taller but still bore red hair akin to his brother’s…

Uncharitably, it seemed like a pale mimic of Sylvain to Byleth’s eye, this specter that haunted his cub.

“Give me the Lance, Miklan, and maybe I won’t have to kill you,” said Sylvain, voice hard, hiding desperately behind his veneer.

Behind them, he heard Felix step closer behind him, spurs jangling, sword at the ready.

“Is that any way to talk to someone you’ve robbed, Sylvain?” asked Miklan, voice devoid of any false warmth, bearing only the deep bitterness he’d heard in only a few voices before in his life.

“We know how this is going to end, Miklan,” he said sadly, staring down at Miklan’s feet. “If me crying for mercy before you pushed me down a well didn’t convince you I didn’t want any of this, I don’t know what will, so I may as well put you down,” he said, forcing his voice to harden.

“And you should have _drowned_ in that well!” Miklan hissed, posture growing aggressive. “Look at what I’ve done, Sylvain, with nothing to my name! I took the relic, I made a clan, I got a headquarters! What have you done, Sylvain, huh!? What’ve you done at that fancy school for Crested _brats_ like you!? You just don’t get it. Or maybe you do, but it doesn’t matter. The Crest makes the man, Dad told me once, before _you_ took away my birthright, the one I could only get back if _you_ died.”

In a slow movement, not fast enough to threaten attack, he removed the strange lance from his back; the one that seemed to pulse in time with the sword in his hand, made of the same bone.

“And you just couldn’t even do that for me, could you little brother?” he asked, sick smile on his face. He did not take pleasure in the statement, but he saw some cruel joke in it: a broken man finding cold solace in despair.

“Whatever. I’ve been wanting to see what this stupid thing can do. Maybe it’ll show me why people give so much of a shit after I run you through,” Miklan said dully, sliding into position.

That was when he felt the pulse.

It was sickening; it was no Divine Pulse like Sothis would have made, similar and yet so terribly different. It reeked of agony and hatred, and it sickened Byleth in a deep, encompassing way that made his next step obvious.  
  
“You need to drop that weapon!” Byleth cried before he could stop himself. “The Lance is hungry, you need to let it go!” he cried, even his own students looking at him uncertainly; he hated to think what Gilbert was thinking, walking in on this.

Miklan scoffed. “This is between us,” he said darkly, before what he feared came to pass.

A second pulse came, and with this one came life. Hungry, devouring life, crawling out from the empty center of the lance, some symbol glowing red in the emptiness, darkness latching itself onto Miklan’s arm. He let out a cry of alarm as the tendrils of black, evil mud peeled at the plates there as easily as if it were chicken skin, leaving only pale bone as it devoured him, covering him completely and leaving only the scent of blood in its wake and the man silent within his prison.

Byleth and everyone else could only look on in bald horror at what was happening, no one sure what to do. A cold dread ran down his spine when he saw the shape changing, becoming more monstrous. A massive beast formed before them, clad in darkness.

Then the creature broke free, limbs bursting from its dark shell and showing a greater beast within. Massive and muscled, the beast before them was not Miklan in any way, shape or form; it was a terrifying monster, its eyes gleaming red behind a spider-webbed skull plate. A great horn and sharp spines ran its length, its teeth the size of longswords.

Byleth would not be ashamed to admit he froze in horror, gazing upon what used to be a man.

 _“What is that!?_ ” cried Sothis, giving silent voice to what they surely were all thinking.   
  
“Lions,” he said, forcing his voice to work. “Prepare for battle.”   
  
He felt the Sword gleam and pulse in his hand as he stared down the beast, dark and hungry before them.

He didn’t know and didn’t care what this thing was; it was a threat to his cubs, and so it was going down.  
  
As if sensing his train of thought, the monster reared back, a deafening roar all but shaking the room itself with its force. 

His Lions did not disappoint. Dedue stood by him, Gilbert to his other side, all sharp and prepared for the impossible.  
  
“Engage!” he called, blurring forward, the sword’s whip-form demanding the beast’s attention as his plated allies took position.

It was unlike anything Byleth had ever done before. He, Dedue and Gilbert fought to keep the beast’s attention on them, Mercedes diligently healing them as needed while the rest of the class harried and leveled as much damage as they could against it. 

Annette was a terror, loosing one cutting gale after another, wounding and slowing it down as everyone took opportunistic strikes against the flanks. Sylvain had managed to scale up onto its back, ramming his lance into it to hold himself stable.

Felix was the next up as he grabbed onto Sylvain’s hand. Deftly, he balanced atop the bucking creature, impaling it over and over with his sword to keep himself steady as Dedue and Gilbert continued to hack at its legs, Byleth himself firing his whip-sword like an arrow to pierce the beast’s armor.

Sothis was hard at work as well; the sight of Dedue with his chest caved in, smashed to the floor by a massive claw was little more than a memory thanks to her, as was the sight of Dimitri being sent sailing a hundred feet to fall and crack his skull open.

A bitter reminder that he still had much to teach them.

But it was working; the beast was flagging. Under their demanding onslaught, the creature could do little more than flail in an attempt to push them away, get them off of it, but without luck. His students were a well-oiled machine hard at work putting the beast down.

They all kept focused and performed their duties as its struggles weakened more and more. 

When it finally collapsed, Sylvain was the one to leap off and ram through its skull-plate with a beastly cry of his own, face twisted into an unrecognizable expression as he wrenching the lance deeper into its head.

That seemed to be the creature’s death knell. With a great, shuddering sigh, the beast collapsed into itself, Felix narrowly managing to leap off as its flesh seemed to return to the disgusting muck from whence it came. 

They all looked at its body, slowly burbling away, evaporating as if it never were. All that remained was the Lance, some hard detritus and Miklan’s partially eaten body.

His armor was all but obliterated, but it seemed to have served its purpose. Only the arm that wielded the lance was truly devoured.

He lay there, face down, bone hand seeming to reach out towards the thing that had killed him.

The room was silent, all eyes on Sylvain as he stood over his brother and his birthright, letting his grip tighten and go slack on the lance in his hands.

“He was never good to me, you know? All the lessons, sparring practice, the well…” he started as Byleth approached his side. “Never once.”

Byleth placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes for a moment before he continued. “I just… I thought I’d feel something once he was… once he was gone.”

Byleth held his shoulder, heart storming. It took a long moment before he finally said, “We are not beholden to love one another because of our blood, Sylvain,” he said softly. He didn’t truly know what to say; couldn’t imagine what Sylvain was feeling.

As he stared at Miklan’s unmoving corpse, for a brief, heart-stopping moment he imagined Blythe in its place; imagined fighting her to the death, her hating him enough to want him dead.

But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t imagine it. Miklan didn’t make sense to him. He made _more_ sense to him as a beast than a man.

“That man was not your family, Sylvain,” he said softly. “Family is not a thing that is governed by blood or title. It is a mutual bond, a pact; no one who would do what he did deserves that title.”

“Yeah, a title,” Sylvain said, almost under his breath. “I know all about those, believe me, and no good comes of them. But it was all Miklan ever wanted, and I… I took it from him, I took _everything_ from him.”

“Sylvain, you didn’t steal anything from hi—”

“No, but I sure did get what was,” he spat. “It didn’t matter who stole it, it was still something _I_ got. _I_ got the title, _I_ got all the benefits, _I_ got the Lance, because _I_ have a fucking _Crest_.”

His voice echoed through the tower, leaving a silence in its wake that reigned over the Lions like a heavy-handed tyrant, and yet there was only an emptiness behind his words punctuated by the pained look that rested on his brow.

His shoulder sagged, and the white-knuckled fist he’d clenched let loose. “Miklan was right. I shouldn’t have been born.”

It was a terrible thing to hear, let alone from one of his own, from one of his cubs. From one of his Lions.

To tear him asunder would hurt less, and he had only heard it.

He could only imagine how bad Sylvain _felt_.

It was all Byleth could do to take him into his arms, unprotesting through the despair as he was even if it was a one-sided embrace in armor-clad arms. Sylvain did not move, he hardly even breathed, but eventually, he leaned into Byleth’s shoulder, a hot, ragged breath escaping against his neck.

“I’m just a Crest to them,” Sylvain said into his pauldron. “It’s _all_ I am to them, _any_ of them, and it’s all I’ll ever be.” Something wet seeped into his collar. “ _I’m_ not enough.”

“Of course you’re enough,” a different voice scoffed, bringing Byleth and Sylvain both to look up to see Felix standing there, fists balled up at his sides. “You don’t _have_ to be anything more.”

Sylvain then looked as though he might have begun to cry in earnest, pulling Felix into a tight embrace that left him looking like he might start spitting and hissing for how wide his eyes got, but after a moment, he lowered his arms out of the alarm he’d raised them in and then, however hesitantly, wrapped them around Sylvain.

A laugh escaped from his throat. “I know displays of affection aren’t big in your family, Fe, but I figured you would know how a hug works.”

“Ugh! You are insufferable! I’ll just leave, then,” Felix all but derided, and interestingly staying right there despite it.

They remained there for a few more moments, the rest of the Lions tending to their own wounds in the meantime, and at length, Sylvain and looked at Byleth. “Thank you, Professor. I don’t think I could have done this without you being here.”

“I am, too. I hate to hear what would have become of you had you faced that beast alone,” Byleth answered as he adjusted some of the straps on his gauntlet.

“Well, that, too, I guess. For sure,” Sylvain said, scratching at the back of his head. “But I really mean just…” His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on his brother’s corpse once more. “I don’t know if I could have brought myself to do it. Not alone.”

Byleth’s brow softened and he gave his shoulder another squeeze. “You all mean something to me, and I hate to see any of you hurting,” he said, being startled by how easily the truth came to him in his words and yet being unsurprised all the same. “I want to be there whenever you need me to be. Every time.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sylvain said again, an echo of his earlier words and yet with a gratitude all the more genuine. “It means more than you know to hear it.”

“I’m starting to,” Byleth said, once more looking at Miklan’s remains.

There wasn’t much to be said of him, upon inspection. What he noticed however, were strange ingots, nearly black, glimmering strangely in the light. He pocketed them, and with Sothis’s nod, picked up the Lance.

There was no writhing, no hateful aura; it was just empty now, vaguely alive based off the rhythmic pulse inside of the strange thing. If the Sword of the Creator felt strange, this thing, this Lance of Ruin, felt freakish; even holding it gave him goosebumps. No wonder people feared these weapons.

Standing once more, he turned and held the Lance out towards Sylvain, who after a moment of hesitation took it into his own grasp, his will now steeled with resolve.

Then they all left, seeking refuge for the night in a tavern, waking to a note from Gilbert, who informed them he and a small squadron would be chasing down the bandits who were left, scattered into the foothills as they were.

Annette’s face betrayed her hurt, if only for a moment, before she returned to herself and they all left for Garreg Mach.

If it was a long ride, it escaped Byleth, lost in his own thoughts as he was. Muscle memory carried him through the stables, the rote motions performed despite his distracted heart. His studies had shown him with impartial logic and detached platitudes that Fódlan’s nobility was a world apart, but what he had seen showed him it was worse, that it was callous. It was not fair to any of these kids that Crests were prized more than their own lives, whether they had one or not. He had seen the dangers it posed, that they would be cast aside and devalued without them and eaten apart if they did.

It wasn’t just, he thought as he slammed his fist into a stone column that held up one of the monastery’s balustrades.

He clenched his eyes shut and levelled his breathing before straightening his back and standing upright, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a wide-eyed and rather shaken Hanneman.

“I apologize, Professor,” the man said, righting his spectacles in an attempt at regaining his composure. And perhaps his dignity. “I can come back at a different time. I don’t wish to trouble you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just been… a long day,” Byleth said, distantly realizing he’d had quite a few of those recently and that he’d arguably been putting this off for perhaps much longer than need be. “I know you’ve been meaning to see me.”

“Yes, just so, Professor. I have exciting news for you!” he said, seeming to try to cheer him in his own way.  
  
“In some ways it’s a blessing that it took us this long to meet again face to face; it gave me more time to look into your unique situation, and I have been able to cut some questions you may have off at the pass,” he explained, gently walking them to a more private part of the room, where passers-by were less likely to hear, and Byleth was thankful for that much at least.

Once they had found a deserted spot near one of the walls of the grand entryway, he adjusted his monocle.

“As I said before, you are a bearer of a Crest, and not a minor one, either.” He took the chance to look at him seriously and appraisingly through the lens.  
  
“Professor, I don’t know how knowledgeable you are on the topic of Crests, but you are the bearer of one of the most infamous crests in all of history,” he said bluntly. “I’ve checked and re-checked, and I have perhaps a theory on the matter, but nothing concrete. The fact of the matter is, you bear the Crest of Flames, whose only other known bearer was the King of Liberation himself: Nemesis.”

Hanneman was silent for a long moment, evidently giving him a moment to process the information, though the words meant little to him beyond a bad taste in the back of his mouth. He had forgotten all about this matter, and the news was much more bitter the second time around.

“What does that mean, Hanneman? I have a rare crest?” he asked, his face retreating to the familiar mask that protected his more vulnerable secrets.

Hanneman’s eyes shone as he prepared to speak, but he couldn’t hold it against him. He had met scholars of his ilk before, lost in their subject matter, unable to see the forest for the trees. 

“Not rare, Professor, _mythical,_ ” he all but rhapsodized. “Unheard of, wholly separate from the Crests of the Saints or even the Apostles, long believed dead, it’s unheard of!” he explained excitedly.

“It explains why the Sword chose you, it was his relic weapon! It also explains why it chose your sister,” he clarified, with a raised eyebrow. “I looked into your genealogy, but there is not much evidence to work off of; your mother is long-dead, and your father did not know if she bore a Crest. Historically, twins have sometimes but not always shared a crest, and I found your sister to check for myself.” 

“The both of you bear his crest, Byleth,” he explained in hushed tones. “I warn you, Nemesis is a hated figure throughout the land. You would do well to keep your crest’s details a secret. I told your sister the same thing.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, nearly dislodging is monocle but for a deft catch, nestling it safely back into place.

Byleth was still numb to the news. He had a Crest, but a hated one, one people would wish to hurt him for having? This was all nonsense. Who decided any of this? An ultimately pointless question, he realized, doing his best to keep his frustration hidden by clenching his fists behind his back.  
  
“I suppose the question then is how, is it not, Professor Hanneman?” Byleth asked , the man nodding in turn , again adjusting his monocle nervously.   
  
“My theories are just conjecture at this point, I fear. No amount of testing can explain _how_ his Crest ended in your blood unless you know something Jeralt or everyone else doesn’t. Perhaps your father, who bears a Crest of Seiros, somehow held markers of it in his genetics which would have joined your mother’s, and… well, I apologize, Professor. I’m sure I sound a great bore. Suffice to say, I fear I have no more answers.”   
  
He reached forward slowly, telegraphing his movements to grasp his shoulder with uncommon gentleness, eyes soft and warm. “I’m sure this must seem like a lot, Professor; to bear a Crest is as much a burden as a blessing, and this one is no different. Any who know you two can see you are bound for great things, Crest or not. But it will help you. It is a birthright, if a weighty one at that.”   
  
He pulled back, nodding to himself. “I have given your sister a number of books on training in one’s Crest and invoking it, though I fear a certain amount of guess-work is involved, if only for the fact that, as mentioned, no one has had yours for millennia. Pay attention: you’ve surely invoked it without even realizing before,” he continued, eyes still occasionally darting out to make sure none were observing them. “The King of Liberation was said to have the stamina of ten men, wounds healing there on the battlefield. Perhaps it is mere myth, but perhaps not.”

This he could understand a bit better. Training a new skill, mastering it and taking advantage of it. That part, at least, he could do. Stars knew Blythe would prefer not to be the one poring over books all day, which left the duty to him most likely.  
  
Hanneman coughed into his fist then, an embarrassed look on his face. “Professor… I know we do not know one another terribly well, but with this I have to be honest: you and your sister have likely become my life’s work. It behooves me to ask if whenever possible you would consider speaking to me on the matter of your Crest: changes, effects, anything at all, no matter how small.”   
  
Byleth nodded slowly. “I’m sure my sister and I would be happy to contribute to your research, Professor,” he said at length. “I have no qualms in collaborating with you on this matter, and I think the same will be true of Blythe.”   
  
Hanneman’s face melted into a delighted smile. “Wonderful! Wonderful,” he cheered softly, with a little pump of his fist. “I will do all I can not to be too much of a bother, Professor. Your students come first, after all.”   
  
The man’s eyes lit up suddenly, mouth in an ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh! Goodness, I nearly forgot: this stays between us and whoever you consider worthy. None shall know more than your status as a Crest-bearer from me, leaving your crest a mystery my mighty intellect could not unravel,” he said, with an almost joking tone.   
  
“Perhaps someday, when we are both out of the public eye I might ask to release an anonymous report on you both, but that is for later. This is a matter of your health, and in this matter I am more than a doctor of reason and ritual,” he promised.   
  
Byleth couldn’t help a relieved smile at that. “Thank you, Hanneman. We will both appreciate that.”   
  
“Well, erm…” Hanneman said awkwardly, shuffling in place and staring at his shoes. “I think that is all I have to say, Professor. Thank you for your time, and I bid you a pleasant day. And as always, my office door is always open to you both,” he said in way of goodbye, offering a final wave to which Byleth nodded.

Watching him trot away to do whatever eccentric Crest researchers did was surreal. He did not imagine a herald of earth-shattering news would wear a monocle.

Then again, there were much worse ways to receive news, he mused as he turned to return to his quarters for the evening. He had been away from the monastery for the better part of the weekend and as such had missed a bath. A tavern was better than a dusty camp, but that didn’t mean they were devoid of grime, not to mention the residue and other viscera that he desperately needed to scrub out of his scalp—

“Byleth!” came a shout that rang through the hall alongside a mattering of distinct clats as Blythe ran to him with all the force of a stormy gale. “Where—”

He reached out to catch her as she leaned over in front of him, propping her arms up on her knees while she caught her breath. “Where were you?” she demanded, frantic.

“I left you a note on the desk. Did you not—” he started, but then she held up a hand as if to stop him. “Blythe, what’s wrong?”

She stood back up, her breath even now, and levelled him with a look that spoke of terrified worry made all the more intense by the way her eyes shone so strangely now.

“Flayn is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that cliffhanger, huh? I hate 'em when I'm reading, love 'em when I'm writing.
> 
> Wanna yell at us for it? Join our discord server! We'd love to hear from you!  
> https://discord.gg/Abr2RnW  
> (Bear in mind the server is 18+)


	20. Truth, Dreadful Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Flayn is successful.
> 
> Byleth demands answers to questions that tormented him, and is given an offer in turn.
> 
> The future is uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for your patience after this long wait; life had gotten in the way, and this chapter went in directions we did not expect it to; we needed to ensure we made it work properly.
> 
> We hope to return to a more regular schedule from this point onwards!

Blythe’s teeth felt as sharp as a sword as she grit them.

It had been two days since Byleth had come back, and there was still no sign of Flayn, despite no lack of searching for her. They were midway through the week now, and she could tell even her students could sense the nerves keeping her hyper-conscious for any sign of Flayn even in class.

Distantly, she was aware her work was slipping. There were exams to mark, essays to grade, certifications to give out, but she couldn’t bring herself to spare them more than a passing thought.

Yet Seteth relied on them. Somehow, he was so sure there was no way that Flayn was outside of Garreg Mach. Rather, he was convinced she was somewhere inside of it.

That didn’t make their efforts much simpler, though. The more she dug, the more baffled Blythe became by the labyrinthine architecture of the monastery and the fortress that lay beneath the surface. She needed to find Flayn, something that was only pronounced with how she subconsciously ground her teeth, and she could only imagine how her brother felt; she was all but certain the man hadn’t slept since she disappeared.

If Byleth disappeared in earnest, without his Lions, she didn’t know what she’d do, so she could only imagine how Seteth was feeling. Her heart went out to him. So it only felt right that she spent every free moment helping her cousin in his search.

She couldn’t lose her family after she’d only known them for so short a time.

Once again, she found herself by the pond, smelling helplessly for any trace of her on the wind. When she had first disappeared, this was where her scent was strongest, but now, days later, there was not even the suggestion that Flayn had been here.

All the same, she searched the same places uselessly, praying to find some hint that she had missed the last dozen times she’d looked, chest tight with worry.

They had to find her. They _had_ to.

“My teacher?” a voice came from behind her as she futilely pressed at stones along the pond in hopes of a fabled passage that Garreg Mach was apparently filthy with. She turned, looking upon Edelgard, a worried look in her eyes.

“Yes? What is it, Edelgard, I’m very busy,” she said absentmindedly, walking purposefully towards the arena. She had no idea what she expected to find there, but maybe she could find something of value. Or at the very least something to hit.

With fast, determined steps and a fluttering gnat behind her, she found the arena nearly deserted, the daily tourneys long since finished. The only person that remained was the strange masked man she sometimes passed in the Monastery: Jeritza.

He wielded his sword strangely with a nonstandard grip. Though he _was_ an instructor, so he must have had some rare specialty.

But that wasn’t important. She needed to look for evidence of Flayn.  
  


“Professor, wait, _please!_ ” cried Edelgard, grabbing onto her hand firmly, bringing Jeritza’s attention onto them.

“ _What,_ Edelgard? _What_ do you want?” demanded Blythe with as much heat as she could manage. “I’ll have your essay, or whatever you’re asking about back to you soon enough!” 

  
Edelgard blinked twice, letting go of her hand with an expression she didn’t recognize on her face. “That’s not… why I…” she murmured, eyes breaking contact and staring off into a corner. “I… only came as a representative of the Eagles, my Teacher. We’re worried about you.”

“I… oh,” she said stupidly.

She was ashamed to say she had forgotten about her Eagles. Her panic over Flayn had simply thrown everything else to the wayside. ...Or at least she reasoned so. Some part of her didn’t want to admit that it might have been longer.

“We… wished to offer our services, however might serve,” she said softly, hands clasped demurely, her body language unrecognizable to her.

“Edelgard… none of you need to do this,” she managed awkwardly, staring down at the shorter woman with a new tightness in her chest. “I’m… sorry, that I have been preoccupied. As soon as Flayn is found, it will be as before, I swear it,” she promised, carefully refraining from the reassuring touches her heart was telling her to engage in.

“That’s not it, my Teacher,” said Edelgard a trifle desperately. “We see how this is affecting you and we’re worried, so we want to help you. You’re just as much an Eagle as we are!” she said, voice raising even as Jeritza left the arena soundlessly, her senses acknowledging the berth he gave them as he quietly opened one of the doors.

Edelgard’s eyes shone with conviction. “I don’t know what Flayn means to you, and perhaps it’s best I don’t ask, but, regardless, an innocent is in danger, and the Eagles won’t stand for it!” she said with conviction.

“What…? She..? What do you mean by that, Edelgard?” she asked, a coldness creeping into her, mind slowing down, as if trapped in a frigid swampland.

Edelgard at least had the grace to blush. “I… I would never assume to know your business, my Teacher,” she stuttered, hands clasped firmly behind her back, posture ramrod straight. “Simply, well… Hubert heard that you and she had… gone to her room…” she barely squeaked out, obviously mortified. A bolt of terror electrified her, frost and lightning warring to set her bones alight as a loud “no” crawled out of her throat, unbidden.  
  
“Edelgard, no! Stars, she’s family!” she cried, the horror in her voice lending truth to the statement.  
  
“Family!?” cried Edelgard in turn, disbelieving. “What!?”  
  
“I—” she stopped herself, physically taking a step back and a deep breath, the voice in her head howling all sorts of confusing, contradictory advice she didn’t understand — pet Edelgard, bite her, hide her away, wrestle her to the ground for the unwitting insult — and her mind was going a mile a minute.  
  
“Yes. Flayn is a cousin of mine,” she managed, voice level and emotionless. “A cousin I didn’t know I had until I came here. We were getting acquainted, nothing more,” she explained, all the while feeling filthy for not being able to explain the true depth of her emotions. To call Flayn a simple long-lost cousin didn’t do her justice.

Since that fateful day she had realized she had family within the Monastery, she had been a beacon of stability that even Byleth couldn’t be. She could feel her body changing, her mind as well, and Flayn helped coach her through it, soothed her, let her get her instinctual needs out of the way with her, and in doing so they had become close in a beautiful, wordless way.

She still didn’t know much of anything about Flayn, yet all the same, she knew that Flayn cared for her with a deep, encompassing passion.

“Part of the reason I am so… committed to this search is because I can’t lose her,” she explained. “I can’t lose the family I’ve only met.” In a soft aside, she had to admit as well: “It would kill Seteth. I can’t allow their family to be broken further.”  
  
Edelgard was silent, one hand clenched over her heart, the other twitching awkwardly at her side.  
  
“Professor, I—I had no idea,” she admitted, baffled.  
  
“What, the family resemblance didn’t tip you off?” she joked without venom. “It’s best for everyone if our relationship isn’t well known. Being related to Rhea’s advisor is a dangerous fact to let be known, what with Flayn already having been under significant restrictions for her protection, and look what happened,” she explained.  
  
“People want them dead, Edelgard. Or worse,” she finished severely.  
  
Edelgard gulped uncomfortably. “It… is true. The church has many enemies,” she ceded neutrally.

“All the same, we’re convinced she’s alive. Even Rhea is working to help find her, and we will. We can only hope we’ll find her well…” she murmured distractedly, itching to continue her work.

A beat of silence passed between them, filled only with a breeze that seemed to part around some unseen obstacle between them, though she felt it was one she had been willfully ignoring for some time now.  
  
“Listen... I’m… sorry, that things have been awkward of late. Between us or otherwise. I appreciate you being willing to step up and live up to your duties so well,” she began, grasping at her elbow uncomfortably. “I don’t know what the Eagles can do, beyond the obvious. We’re already searching anywhere and everywhere, so…”

Edelgard nodded firmly all the same. “I understand, my Teacher. We will do our best all the same, and are at your disposal.”  
  
Blythe nodded in turn, her heart flipping uncomfortably in her chest. “Thank you, Edelgard. I wish I had more I could… ask… of…” Blythe drifted off mid-sentence as the breeze passed them once more, head craning to the side as she took a sharp, deep breath.

“ _Him,_ ” she hissed, suddenly furious.  
  
“Teacher..?” Edelgard asked, quite thoroughly lost, watching her strange movements with a tilted head.  
  
“The Death Knight. I can smell him. He’s been here,” she grunted, stepping away to track the scent, chin in the air as she sniffed noisily around the arena.  
  
“He left a trail!” she cried, equal parts excited and bloodthirsty.

"S-smell him!?" Edelgard cried, even as she rushed to grab a training axe from off of the racks.

Better safe than sorry.

She led them out of the arena, following a clear path even as she continued to sniff, at least a bit less obviously now.

“We’re going to need the Eagles, probably… Seteth… anyone we can get,” she murmured under her breath.  
  
“Should I go get them?” inquired Edelgard seriously, axe in hand.

  
“Not yet. We need to see where the trail leads before we call the cavalry,” she explained. The path was so simple…

When it led to a building she’d never noticed near the gardens, she was surprised. “What building is this?” she asked, confused.  
  
“This… I believe this is Professor Jeritza’s dwelling…” said Edelgard nervously.  
  
“The trail ends here…” she murmured, frowning. 

With another deep breath, her eyes widened, alarmed. “I smell blood.”

She locked eyes with Edelgard, eyes sharp in a way she rarely let her students see. “What do you think we should do, Edelgard?”

  
Edelgard’s eyes widened at having her opinion requested, but her face quickly screwed into a mask of concentration.

“I think…”  
  
“That we should get in there right now,” Byleth stated, making the both of them jolt in surprise, both their heads whipping to look at him in shock.  
  
“I smelled blood,” was all he said, sword already in hand. 

Blythe looked at him, gaze assessing and revealing nothing.  
  
Without looking away from Byleth, she reached for the doorknob, of course locked. Then she said: “Edelgard, break down the door.”

With splinters flying, Edelgard did exactly that, completely unmooring the door from its lock mechanism with her axe to have the door slide open with tantalizing slowness.

What they found was worrying indeed.

Lying on the floor with a small puddle of blood beneath her was Professor Manuela. 

At that moment, a student outside screamed in surprise at the grisly sight before them, Blythe pointing at them sharply. “You. Get help!” she barked, pleased to see them immediately scurry off.

There was no telling how she got there or why, but what had to be done was obvious. 

Edelgard was the first to act, kneeling down and checking Manuela’s pulse. “She’s alive,” she confirmed. “But she needs medical attention. I will take her to the infirmary, and then get help,” she stated firmly.  
  


The twins nodded, canvassing the room while Edelgard picked up Manuela bodily, easily carrying her off to leave them alone, even as a crowd was forming in front of the shattered door.  
  
“I’m here! What’s happening?” called Dorothea, bursting through the door, eyes sharp.  
  
“It was Jeritza,” Blythe hissed. “We’re putting a stop to this, and we’re finding Flayn. Have the crowd make themselves useful and find the other Eagles,” she ordered.

The passage was not even hidden; whatever he’d done to Manuela, he hadn’t deigned to even replace the bookshelf which hid the staircase leading down.  
  


“We’re headed down, Dorothea. Send reinforcements down as they arrive.”  
  


Dorothea nodded. “I’ll come down as soon as someone volunteers to take my place!” she said, with a snapped salute.

“Good girl,” Blythe said, a smile creeping onto her lips even as she unsheathed her half of the Sword.

Without another word, she leaped down the stairs, taking them four at a time with her sword out.

She was very interested in replacing the smell of Manuela’s blood with someone else’s.

When they finally reached the bottom of the staircase, the twins mirrored each other looking in blunt disbelief at what they saw: a massive cell block, robed mages standing before the central cell, the one and only Death Knight’s dead-eyed helm staring them down.  
  


“ **Good! I was wondering when I’d see the Goddess’s chosen again!** ” he boomed, scythe gleaming.

Blythe noted that his horse was nowhere to be seen, and, privately, she was pleased for more than tactical considerations; horses had no business being indoors like in the Crypt.

Behind them she could see a shock of green hair, making her chest constrict painfully as unnameable emotions overtook her, forcing her to step forward, sword leveled against him.

“Give Flayn back,” Blythe ground out, teeth grit, desperate to _bite_ the interloper and show her strength. “ _Now._ ”  
  
The Death Knight gave a low chuckle, echoing around the block unnaturally. “ **If you want her, take her. She’s right there,** **provided** **you can get past me. My master only said to guard this spot.** ”

That was all she needed to hear. In perfect tandem, the twins ran through the robed intruders behind him with the Sword’s whip, the blade firing like an arrow with barely a flick of their wrists.

The Knight did nothing, simply watching them with gleaming eyes as they killed his support.

“Professor!” called Dorothea, running down the stairs, back by a few of the other Eagles: Hubert, Linhardt, Caspar…

“Keep back. This one is too much for you,” she called sharply, eyes trained on the Knight.

“ **Now that the distractions have been handled, shall we dance once more, Goddess’s Chosen? To first blood or first down,** ” he boomed, giving his gleaming scythe an artful twirl.

“Now, now, Death Knight; I think you’ve been having a bit too much fun at my expense,” came a new voice from the depths of the cell block. 

A steady clicking echoed through the room as a slender figure stepped out of one of the cells as if by magic.

“Begone, Death Knight. I’ve no need of you any longer,” the figure stated, walking into view. A small person, they wore feathered pauldrons and an unnerving mask, crawling flames on clean polished steel with gleaming yellow eyes.  
  
“Who are you?” called Byleth cautiously, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in a way that Blythe recognized not as curiosity but suspicion .  
  
Instead of answering, the figure snapped their arm out. “I said _go,_ you wild dog.”  
  


The Knight growled, but disappeared in a swirl of magic.

With the Knight gone, the figure stepped closer, standing before Flayn’s cell where the Knight had been.

“Hello,” they intoned smoothly, their voice distorted gently, quite unlike the Death Knight. “I am the Flame Emperor.”

“...And what do you want? What do you want with _Flayn?_ ” asked Blythe impatiently, wrist itching to strike. She could hear the final Eagles appearing from the stairwell, all poised and in position behind them.

“I’m afraid what I required of Miss Flayn is my secret to keep,” they said unapologetically, offering no body language at all. “But my goal is to burn away the dross that stains this world, and reforge it into what it was always meant to be,” they continued, completely sincere by all cues as far as Blythe could tell with the mask.

“Aw, c’mon! Like that even means anything! Are you here to talk fancy or say what you mean!?” demanded Caspar from behind them, beating Blythe to the punch.  
  


The figure — this _Flame Emperor_ — said nothing for a long moment.  
  


“This world is corrupt,” they stated. “I have watched the gears of governance grind the weak to ash, and I will have none of it. I will destroy the evil that corrupts this place and all others, no matter the cost.” They punctuated their address with a gesture that served little beyond making them look grandiose and pious, perhaps even self-righteous if she were to listen to baser manners.  
  
“Keep the girl; we have what we need. Though I doubt you will, please give her my apologies for her rough treatment; were there a kinder way, I’d have taken it.”  
  


Without another word the so-called Flame Emperor disappeared in a blur of teleportation magic, leaving them alone with Flayn lying alarmingly still on some sort of dais inside of the cell.

With all threats neutralized, corpses littering the floor, Blythe sprinted to tear the door to the cell open, hinges creaking mournfully at her touch.

She pressed forward, leaning over immediately, hand at Flayn’s too-pale cheek. “Flayn?” she called softly, something unreadable in her eyes. From where they stood, standing outside of the cell the Eagles watched their teacher in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“Flayn,” she called again, stroking her cheek with her thumb. “Flayn, you need to wake up,” she whispered, nuzzling into her neck, terrified by the muted scent she sensed. The ocean had become brackish, weak, unpleasant and powerless.

“Flayn,” she begged now, pulling her into a sitting position, wrapping her arms tightly around her. “Please, won’t you think of Seteth? You can’t leave us, Flayn,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“ _Flayn!_ ” called a voice from the stairs. As if summoned by her words, the Archbishop’s right hand appeared, running to them as if on wings.  
  
“Flayn,” he called again more softly, his face pale, pinched and pained, torn between relief at the sight of her and fear at her state.

“She won’t wake up,” she whispered fearfully, turning to look at him. “I can barely smell her.”  
  


He sighed, taking her from Blythe’s arms, holding her in a dignified princess carry. He nuzzled into her neck, then pulling back to look at her intensely.  
  
“It’s as I feared. They’ve… We’ll discuss it later,” he promised, turning to lean into Blythe’s ear, then towards the rest of the room, “She’ll be okay,” he called for all to hear, the tension in the room lifting palpably.

“Hey, there’s someone else over here!” called Dorothea nervously.

This had the group stumble in their plans. “What?” asked Seteth, eyebrow quirked.

With shaking arms, Dorothea pulled another unconscious person in a Garreg Mach uniform out of the cell. Quickly, Caspar appeared to take them from her as Blythe approached curiously, examining them.

“This… who’s this?” she asked, baffled.

Seteth also approached, face twisted into a thoughtful frown. “That… is Monica… a student who disappeared last year. I guess we know where to now.”  
  
“This changes nothing,” Blythe stated, rising to her feet. “We’re taking them to the infirmary!” she barked as she followed Seteth loyally as they went, Byleth and her Eagles matching her as they followed.

Seteth brought Flayn up out of the cells, corpses left for the Knights to clean up.

It was when they had left the room that they caught sight of Edelgard sprinting at full tilt towards them.  
  


When she finally stopped, gasping with hands on her knees, she looked up at them. “You found her?” she managed.  
  
“Yes. We’re bringing her to the infirmary,” said Seteth, continuing his trek with no further comments.

One of the gawking students had the misfortune of catching Seteth’s eyes. “You there! Fetch Lady Rhea and tell her to come to the infirmary at my request with all haste.”  
  


Without a word, the student ran, and they continued.

When she had finally made it to the infirmary, Flayn was finally placed in a hospital bed, everyone surrounding her. There was a long silence as they all looked at her small form, none greeting her as she entered.

It was a sorrowful sight. No one breathed a word as they watched her rest, chest rising and falling, but besides that worryingly still.

“Students,” began Seteth solemnly, “I do not have the words to express my gratitude to you all for your efforts in finding my sister. I will remember this for as long as I live. But with that said, Flayn needs her rest. Lady Rhea will be here soon to see to the care of the fallen. I ask that everyone who isn’t a Professor please return to your personal activities while I speak with them.”

He was met by a chorus of murmured assent as the students slowly funnelled out of the infirmary, offering gentle goodbyes as they chanced glances backward before leaving entirely.

Edelgard was the last to leave, stopping to give a lingering look at Flayn in her bed from the doorframe.

Once the door had been closed behind them all, Blythe sat down in one of the chairs by Flayn’s bedside.

She was confused by the orange-haired woman they’d found there with her, but truly there could only be one thing on her mind.

“What happened, Seteth?” she said, too raw to be anything but direct for how Flayn was hurt and how it had been by sheer dumb luck and Manuela’s unwitting sacrifice that they’d found her. 

Seteth sighed, staring at Flayn instead of them, Byleth leaning against the wall, arms crossed.  
“Let’s… wait until Rhea’s here. She would want to be here for this discussion.”

Mercifully, it was not a long wait; for Flayn, even the Archbishop would spare no effort. When she finally appeared, it was with a look of naked worry on her face, instantly zeroing in on the sleeping girl, and after a moment, Manuela.

Blythe piped up without being prompted. “Manuela is stable; I left her in Edelgard’s care. She told me she was stabbed, and that she’d applied a vulnerary and some bandages.”

She paused. “The other, Monica, seems unharmed, merely unconscious. She’s been placed in one of the spare rooms.”  
  
Rhea nodded seriously. “That’s… good; I can start on Flayn, then,” she said softly, voice devoid of its usual smooth, hypnotic quality.

As she tended to her, Seteth paced, beginning to explain the situation to his Archbishop.

  
“ _Jeritza was a traitor, evidently, and not the only one; we’d scented the possibility, but never imagined they’d do anything so bold as this,_ ” he began in their dead tongue. “ _There is at least one more agent._ ”

Midway through his monologue, Sothis, too, appeared in the infirmary, floating behind Flayn’s head, ghostly hand stroking her cheek as she listened. This all had to do with her as well, she knew.  
  


“ _Agents for whom?_ ” Byleth asked, eyes sharp after seeing Sothis appear. Of course she would, all of this had to do with her, somehow, he knew that now, whether Sothis knew why or not.  
  
Seteth was silent for a moment, swallowing audibly. “ _Ones who hate people like us_ ,” was all he said. “ _They have wanted us dead and buried since time immemorial, and they have struck us a terrible blow_ ,” Rhea finished for him.  
  
“ _Then why isn’t she dead_ ?” Byleth asked, cutting. _“If they hate ‘people like us,’ why didn’t they kill her and send Rhea her head?_ ” he asked, earning a sharp jab into his thigh from Blythe.  
  
“ _Byleth_ ,” she hissed, reproachful, “ _his sister’s in a hospital bed after being kidnapped, mind yourself!_ ”

Rhea cleared her throat, a delicate frown on her face. “ _Our blood is of value. Alchemical value,_ ”Rhea explained softly, as she ran a glowing hand over Flayn’s chest. “ _It can be used to do many things, both great and terrible,_ ” For a moment, her brow creased as her hands stilled before balling into a quiet fist . “ _They drained her as much as they could without killing her._ ”

“ _But she’ll be okay,_ ” clarified Blythe hopefully.

Rhea shook her head. “ _Eventually. There’s no telling when,_ ” she explained sadly. _“Flayn is… delicate. A childhood sickness. A normal human would have come back to us by now, but Flayn rests still. We can only hope she returns to us soon._ ”

Blythe reached forward, stroking Flayn’s arm gently, scratching apologetically at her wrist with blunt nails, jaw clenched. “ _...Very well. If there is anything I can do, you need only say so,_ ” she said softly.

She kept gently stroking her wrist, her instincts telling her to, telling her it was something she was meant to do to express apology. She could feel the eyes of Seteth and Rhea on her as she did, but she didn’t care.

Byleth, it seemed, did.  
  
“ _So, Flayn’s back, she’s alive and will get better. Good. Now are we going to talk about the other wyvern in the room?_ ” he asked irritably, eyes raking over both Seteth and Rhea sharply in a way that would have made a lesser person cower. 

Rhea stiffened, matching his gaze, eyes wide and blank. “And what is that, Byleth?” she asked, offering nothing. Seteth frowned over at her.

“ _What is it that separates ‘people like us’ from ‘normal humans,’ I wonder,_ ” he said, more a statement, an accusation, than a question. “ _And is my sister one of these ‘people like you’?_ ”

The church officials stood awkwardly for a long moment, saying nothing.  
  
“ _Well? It’s not just you who knows, either. Flayn knows of it too._ ”

Rhea stood up, lips a tight line. Her posture was suddenly sharper, almost combative in the careful way her legs were positioned.  
  
“ _They deserve to know, Rhea. You have left them in the dark for your own purposes and I have respected that ‘til now, but to what end? I must add my voice to Professor Byleth’s,”_ he said softly, gently, as if attempting to mollify the famously sweet Archbishop while also putting his foot down.

If she hadn’t been watching the whole exchange intently, Blythe might have missed the way her brother shifted his weight and let his brow drop ever so slightly in a way she had come to know as a tell for when he felt vindicated in some way, but she couldn’t help but feel that perhaps he was prying where he shouldn’t be. Or when he shouldn’t, rather. Rhea had told her that now was not a good time, and that had been quite some time ago. It had been too dangerous for Rhea to tell her then, she’d said, and Blythe had respected this.

But Byleth had never been one to let things go without reason, and he hadn’t been given one.

Not like she had, and it had been a good enough reason for her to drop the issue entirely.

But then she’d had someone else to hold her hand through her unvoiced questions, her answers received before they even escaped her mouth, and she’d rest easier knowing that Flayn was at least in their care, even if she was unmoving and sleepless.

Rhea gave a deep, shuddering sigh, shoulders slumping. She’d been beaten.  
  


“ _It is too dangerous to tell you everything yet. Our enemies would stop at nothing to know of your existence, and our plans,”_ she said softly, closing her eyes with a subtle tightness.

Then when she opened them, it almost seemed as though they’d become slits. “ _It goes without saying, but I must be clear. None of this leaves this room.”_

Byleth locked eyes with the archbishop, sharp eyes assessing her.

He still lacked much in the way of reasons to trust her, but perhaps now she could begin to make amends for the secrets she had kept from him and his sister. 

“ _We are manaketes,_ ” she said simply, letting the word sink in before she continued, “ _Such is a word that has not been spoken in public for centuries at the least. In us flows the blood of the Goddess, the true Goddess, who came down from the moon and brought life to this world.”_

Her eyes gleamed in the half-light as she spoke. Seteth said nothing, simply watching them, an unreadably gentle look in his eyes.

“ _We… I… her name is—_ was _Sothis. Blythe saw her ghost, in Zanado,”_ she continued, staring out of the window, lost in thought. 

She made a soft noise, that might have been a laugh. _“I could hardly believe it. We were the only ones, you must understand,_ ” she continued. “ _Perhaps five manaketes left, two lost to the earth and ocean, only us left. And then you two come along,_ “ she mused, stepping away from Flayn’s bed, hands behind her back.

“ _You speak our dead tongue, learned without guide. You see our mother, our Goddess as a ghost in our ancestral home. And now… you are changing!”_ she whispered, a frisson of excitement crawling into her voice. “Your blood calls to ours, and you grow as manakete neonates might! Unheard-of, unthinkable, incredible, miraculous!” she said, turning to them, arms spread joyfully, before suddenly sobering.

“ _Your mother, her… her body was too weak to bear her blood. She was born unnaturally delicate; she stayed at the Monastery despite her wanderlust for the weakness which plagued her. She died birthing you; one of the greatest tragedies our people had been forced to endure,”_ she continued, pacing now. “But she brought the two of you into the world; even with her death our numbers grew. _Your father took you both away, ostensibly to protect you, ignorant of the heritage he himself did not understand,”_ she said, anger darkening her voice.

“ _He had no way of knowing, Rhea,_ ” chimed in Seteth softly, a gentle pain tingeing his voice . “ _Sitri loved him, and he only wanted to protect their children. He nearly died for you, his loyalty can’t be challenged. If he had not taken them, hidden them, who knows what the Slitherers would have done to take them? Even ignorant of the truth, he has aided us._ ” 

“ _Sitri? Was that her name?_ ” asked Blythe, voice thick with emotion. “ _She… she knew you all?_ ”

Rhea looked at her, an unspeakably soft expression on her face. _“...Yes. Her name was Sitri, and she died loving you both with all her heart,_ ” she all but whispered. “ _She loved you both, and I loved her. We all did._ ”

There was a pregnant moment in which no one said a word, simply allowing the statement to wash over the two motherless children.

Rhea sighed, straightening. She wasn’t done. “ _We do not age as humans do, and neither shall you. We are much, much older than we appear_ ,” she explained. “ _Flayn alone is many times your age_ , _though I doubt you’d believe me if I said by how much. Or that she’d appreciate me telling you,_ ” she said with a mirthless smile.  
  
Her face had taken on a beatific, peaceful quality. “ _We were envied for many reasons. Our age, our strength, our link to the Goddess. We were in touch with a divinity that brought us closer to nature._ ”

“ _Even then, Sothis’s death has wounded us as a people. She was our leader, grand chieftain of the Nabatean Pack. We were forced to pick up the pieces as best we could,”_ explained Seteth gloomily. “ _The Red Canyon changed everything for us. Our people, our culture, wiped out with deft brutality, our Mother claimed, her throat slit as she lay in her healing rest by cowards._ ”

“ _Then… but why do I feel like there is a beast living in my chest?”_ asked Byleth, a naked worry in his whispered plea.

“ _Because you are young, Byleth. Because you have had no one to teach you our ways, or how to control them. You have been packless but for your sister, and she but for you, and you have started to smell us, to meet kin, and your bodies are responding,”_ Rhea explained gently _._

 _“I have a father, you know,”_ Byleth objected without heat _._ _  
_ _  
_ _“He is not Kete, Byleth. He cannot give you what that part of you requires,”_ said Seteth bluntly but not unkindly. 

“ _All the same, whether Jeralt realized it or not, he has given us a gift: Those Who Slither in the Dark do not know of your existence as manaketes. This is of value to us in our war against them,”_ said Rhea, eyes hazy with careful calculation. “ _Two miraculous trump cards from out of the blue.”_

“ _So my sister isn’t human, is what you’re saying,_ ” Byleth says, dead-eyed beyond his usual poker face.

“ _She’s as human as you are, Byleth,_ ” Rhea said reproachfully, an undercurrent of legitimate hurt to her tone. “ _She’s the same person she’s always been, as are we all,”_ she said softly, stroking over Flayn’s other wrist in the same way Blythe was.

Blythe said nothing, simply staring blankly at her hands as they gently ran over Flayn’s wrist.

“ _And—and I’m supposed to believe this, then? Ageless beings borne of a goddess? These ‘Slitherers’ who want us dead?”_ he asked, almost desperately, grappling with the enormity of what he was being told.  
  
Rhea stared at him, unblinking. “ _Did you think I was keeping these secrets for my own amusement, Professor? There’s a reason I didn’t tell you until now, and wouldn’t have if you hadn’t pushed,”_ she stated bluntly. “ _You both have, whether you wanted to or not, stumbled upon a secret war that has spanned millenia. We have spent generations accumulating power to remain safe, just as the Slitherers have worked at every turn to hinder us.”_

She looked at him, gaze boring into him, the weight of ages weighing down on him. “ _If you knew what I had to do to keep my people safe, to ensure we weren’t_ **_harvested for parts_ ** _, it would horrify you. You would think me a monster, without a doubt. I am a sinner, one who has done terrible things for the sake of my people. But I’ll tell you this, Byleth: for all the horrors I’ve committed for the sake of my people, the lies I’ve told, the sins heaped upon my back, even if I'm lying about my motives, or they are unworthy in your eyes…”_ she blurred across the room, grabbing his face roughly by one hand, forcing him to look into her eyes, slit and terrifying in the cold light of the moon. “ _I’m still the lesser of two evils.”_

 _“Rhea—!_ ” Seteth objected, an arm reaching out half-heartedly, his discomfort obvious on his face, Blythe standing with a hand unconsciously at her weapon from the sheer weight of Rhea’s presence.  
  
“ _No, Seteth. He needs to understand. There can be no half-measures when it comes to matters such as these and you know that,” she said definitively, letting his face go before seating herself on an open space on Flayn’s bed, exhaustion seeming to overtake her._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I loved your mother, Byleth. Whether you believe it or not, I would love you two as well. You are family, and there is no bond more holy than that to the ‘people like us’ you seem to hold in such contempt.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Her eyes were no longer slits. The Archbishop just looked tired.  
  
“ _Your mistrust is well-earned. I am thankful you balance out your sister that way. Perhaps I’m lying to you now, manipulating you. I would be capable of it, if need be_ ,” she began, hands clasped in her lap. “ _But I’m not. Not this time. If you wish to distrust me, then I cannot stop you. I have revealed all I can. There is more, and I do not intend to tell you until it’s much too late, if ever. Such is the price I pay, to keep us safe. Just as you are learning if you can trust me, I am doing the same._ ” 

She hardly moved as she spoke, staring down at her hands. 

_“I’d die for my family, just as surely as either of you would die for your twin. I'd kill for them, too. You will find that you will form more bonds like it, as you mature. Knowing what you know, how terribly long it’s been, perhaps you can find it in your heart to understand. I would not ask you to forgive. I cannot be forgiven,”_ she stood up again, walking over to Seteth who wordlessly pulled her close, scenting her as the twins did with each other. After a moment, Rhea pulled back, staring the twins down. _“But perhaps you can understand that we are not your enemies, at the very least.”_

 _“More than that, we wish you to join our fold!_ ” Seteth volunteered, arms out in gentle sincerity.  
  
_“You’ve saved Flayn. That alone is a debt I could not repay, but you are family as well. Truly, we would want nothing more than for you to join us and find happiness with us,”_ he explained, stepping forward, Rhea falling back to take a seat further away from everyone, clearly tired.

“ _We—we could teach you. Teach you of our culture, our ways, help you understand what is happening to your bodies and your minds,_ ” he offered, the naked sincerity of his desire giving the stern man an uncommon charisma. “ _Or status, or whatever you wish! You saved my—you saved Flayn. I can’t tell you what that means to us. To me. If you would allow me, I would support you in all things not directly counter to Rhea’s goals.”_  
  
His shoulders sagged. _“I am no great speaker, not like Rhea. But… we would do all we can to make you cherished members of our family, for good and true. Make you pack. What you’ve done for us is already more than enough to earn that place. Rhea’s statements would become true for you as well. We would die to protect you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Seteth’s eyes shone uncommonly, the moonlight catching his eyes with the same gleaming present in Rhea and Blythe’s eyes becoming evident.

“ _Won’t you let us love you?”_ he asked, painfully sincere.

Byleth had very few tells, and Blythe knew them all to be subtle in all the ways that the wideness in his eyes hadn’t been these past few minutes. It only read across his face in times of terror, when his life was threatened. When he was backed into a corner, as he was now.

His gauntleted hand was balled into a fist as though he wanted to grip his sword and fight his way out despite being in the presence of such overwhelming warmth, of love that Blythe wished desperately that he would accept. If he would only reach out and take the hands they extended to him…

But, instead, to her heart’s sorrow, he backed away.

He backed into the door, his eyes darting to meet any that would meet his and, perhaps not finding what they were looking for, closed as he swallowed and wrapped his hand around the door handle.

When he looked up again, the unreadable porcelain mask was resting on his face once more as he levelled Rhea with unblinking blue.

“With all due respect, Archbishop,” Byleth began in a tone that indicated anything but, “the lesser of two evils is still an evil.”

And with that, the door behind him opened, and he slipped out with all the quietness of a night breeze and half as much practice, Blythe knew. They wouldn’t be able to catch him if they tried. Not easily, anyway.

Rhea all but collapsed into Seteth’s arms, a breathless “oh” escaping her as she held him. “Oh, tragedy,” she whispered into his collar, the only ones to hear him and Blythe so near. “My gambit failed. I’m so sorry, Blythe.”

She stood up, legs shaking with a fear she couldn’t articulate. “It’s okay. I’ll convince him. Please… you won’t hurt him, will you?” she asked, clutching at herself, wishing dearly her brother was there to hold her as Seteth had for Rhea.  
  
Seteth shook his head, face serious. “Never, Blythe. Whatever his decision, unless he were fool enough to join the Slitherers, we would find another way,” he promised solemnly, sorrow tingeing his voice all the same. “Speak to him. I’m sure you can help him to understand. Do your best. We would never wish to hurt him,” he said, holding his pack member tight against him as she nuzzled at his neck.

She nodded firmly. Even now she felt conflicted. She wanted to sooth Rhea and Seteth both, to take away their pains… but to do so, would she be betraying Byleth? 

Despite her instincts crying out to hold them and share in their pain at his decision, she instead gave Flayn another soft stroke of the wrist, leaving the room without another word, chest tight.

When she closed the infirmary door, she slumped against it.  
  
Stars, but she was tired.

Sothis floated next to her, wordless and grim. She was thankful for her silence. She didn’t know if she could handle conversation, or apologies, or whatever it was Sothis might wish to say. Her very soul felt drained.

She didn’t have the heart to search for him. She was almost certain he would not come home tonight, wishing to stew on his feelings in private. So, with exhausted steps, she walked through the dusk, meeting no one and saying nothing.

She opened the locked door to her room, unsurprised to not find him there. Without a thought she kicked off her shoes, falling into bed clothes and all. Sothis joined her, floating to her side, her scent muted.

She grabbed the large comforter they sometimes shared for the sheer size of it and breathed in her brother’s scent, and with one inhaled breath, she came as close to crying as she ever had, even if she did not know what it was she was feeling.

Despite her exhaustion, she sat in bed staring at the door to their room, hoping against hope that her brother would come through the door and back to her.

It was only with the moon high in the sky that her eyes drifted shut, the fading scent of her brother in her nose.

And for the first time she could remember, Blythe Eisner regretted that she had more family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	21. A Day Spent Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe has been having a long week. It isn't over yet, but she tries to relax all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! We told you we'd get on a better posting schedule!

When the sun came, she knew her brother still wouldn’t be there. Even Sothis had faded away in the night to get some rest of her own. She was alone.

It was the same time she always woke up, despite it all. She wanted to sleep for years, and yet her body refused. Even as a part of her moaned for her to fall back into bed and rot longer, her body moved of its own volition. She had children to teach, sweet babies to protect.

No, they weren’t babies. They were adults, or as good as. That was just her… _manakete_ side being protective, she supposed.

She changed out of yesterday’s clothes as she thought about what it meant. She brushed her teeth in the basin as she wondered about what Rhea had done before she knew them, how old she truly was. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she wondered if Rhea was alright despite it all. She had been shattered as Blythe had when Byleth left.

In a rare move, Blythe reached for her brother’s tea set and grabbed his tea satchel as she left, deciding to spend the morning hours she kept before class having a warm, bracing cup or two.

Perhaps such a simple thing would help her regain some kind of normalcy after yesterday. She tried not to think of Flayn, still unconscious in the infirmary. 

Stepping into the gardens, she found the early morning sun enlightening but not yet over-warm as she took a seat at one of the wrought-iron tables which littered the gardens. She delicately placed all of the accoutrements she had onto the table, channeling her brother as she carefully portioned out a scoop of Seiros blend for herself, kettle filled with water she had stopped to get from a pipe for that purpose near the sauna building.

With effortless control, she made a flame flicker into being on her thumb, hanging it beneath the kettle’s stand, quietly watching the flame writhe as she waited for the tea to have warmed enough to infuse.

She was surprised, though, when she saw Petra and Dorothea both walking along hand-in-hand, reaching what she knew to be Bernadetta’s dorm. What were they doing at such an early hour? By rights the children should be sleeping another hour or two at least…

She left her tea for a moment, leaning out from behind the hedges to watch them knock at the door.  
  
And then she opened it, already fully dressed, posture hunched and mousy as ever with a case in her hand but with a delicate smile on her face.  
  
Blythe felt one of her own creeping onto her face as well, happy to see her students getting along so well.  
  
With her curiosity sated knowing her chicks were happy, she returned to her tea.

She was pleasantly surprised, then, to see the girls coming into the gardens, chatting amicably amongst themselves, Petra murmuring something to Bernadetta and Dorothea laughing at the way she blushed.

After a moment, they found her eyes. “Oh, Professor!” called Dorothea cheerily.

She gave a small wave, the weariness of the last day seeming to return to her for a moment however brief.

“What are you doing having tea all alone so early in the morning?” she asked bossily, hunching over her table with fists at her hips. “When you have perfectly good students you could be sharing it with, no less!”  
  
“Well, Byleth was indisposed, and after yesterday, I… could use some time away from my problems,” she said softly. “I didn’t wish to wake anyone.”  
  
“O-oh,” answered Dorothea, posture pulling back, hand at her chest in apology. “I see. That makes a lot of sense,” she admitted, shamefaced.  
  
“Please be forgiving, Professor,” said Petra, placing an arm over Dorothea’s shoulder, using her to lean forward with a gentle smile. “We like to be awake around now; Bernadetta says the light at this hour is good for the practicing, so we are, as you say, ‘early to bed, early to rise,’” she said simply.

Blythe nodded. “I see. Well, if it pleases you, I have plenty of tea, and have not steeped a flavor yet; did we feel like a tea party?” she asked gently, a surprising tension running down her spine at her sudden _need_ to have some company. “I-I fear I don’t have any pastries, but I am sure we could make do!” she added on, a trifle desperately.

Dorothea looked to Petra, then over to Bernadetta, standing unobtrusively a few steps away, close enough to hear but not be involved in the conversation.

“What do you think, Bernie?” called Dorothea softly, walking towards her and grabbing her hands, putting their foreheads together. “Wanna have some tea, just us and the Professor?” she asked softly, the both of them standing in silence before Bernadetta pulled back, giving a shaky nod. Dorothea grinned, turning back to Petra.  
  
“How about you, princess!?” she called, much more animatedly.  
  
“Of course I would be wanting to have tea with our Professor and my dear partners!” she called back happily, quickly pulling a pair of chairs over to the table where the tea had been set.

Once the girls had been seated, she deftly poured the infuser back into the Seiros blend bag.

“Hmm…” murmured Blythe thoughtfully. She picked through the satchels, each with their contents on the bag.  
  
“Knowing what I know about you all… Albinean berry blend might be a nice choice, although I imagine Petra enjoys something with a bit more body,” she said as she pulled out the bag in question. 

  
“Ooh, what’s that?” asked Dorothea curiously, holding Bernadetta’s hand, the north star sitting directly across from Blythe.  
  
“Well, the name is fairly self-explanatory, but it’s sweet and pleasant; imagine sweet apple but with more complex flavorings. My brother paid _far_ too much for this little bag, and I’m angry at him at the moment, so I think I’ll have him foot the bill for a nice morning with some of my beloved students,” she said, just a bit mischievously as she filled the infuser.  
  
“A-Albinea is very cold… it’s quite expensive,” Bernadetta volunteered, her friends looking at her approvingly.  
  
“You’re right, it is. I’ve never been anywhere outside of Fódlan, but some of Father’s mercenaries are from there. Much of the North is uninhabited, and that little bag cost more than you’d believe,” she offered, as her thumb returned to warming the tea.  
  
Blythe had come to know a great many things of Fódlan from her time spent with the band, but even so, manners and etiquette had seemed to fall somewhere beneath the boards. She had relied on her brother to make up for her shortcomings much in the way he had on her when speaking became too much.

His absence made the lulls so much more pronounced.

“So, you three are partners now, eh?” she asked, punctuating the silence with as much of a smile as she could allow. “Am I to expect some striking group tactics from the three of you on our next proper outing?”

She was surprised, then, when the question brought a bright blush to all three of her student’s faces.  
  
“Did… I say something wrong?” she asked, suddenly out of her depth, the bottom of her stomach dropping out as she worried what faux-pas she’d committed. The empty space next to her was becoming harder to ignore .  
  
“No, Professor. We are… it is simply we are not the type of partner you are thinking,” Petra said nervously, scratching at her tattoo self-consciously.

Blythe said nothing to that, simply nodding slowly. There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence as Blythe put the diffuser into the pot with a soft ‘clink.’

“You don’t want to know what she means?” asked Dorothea softly, distrustfully, making a part of Blythe wince unhappily at her tone.

  
“Do you want me to?” she asked in turn, tone forcibly casual, hiding her hurt as best she could behind her blank mask. “Your business is your own; you have not asked why I am angry at my brother, either. I like to think we are comfortable enough with one another to share what we wish with each other without the weight of obligation to force us, if it is important.”

Dorothea had nothing to say to that, nor Petra. Bernadetta sat awkwardly, staring down into her empty tea cup.

The tea sat, Blythe doing her best to keep time.  
  
After about 45 seconds by her count, Bernadetta piped up: “we’re girlfriends.”  
  
There was another loaded silence, watching their professor like she was a lit bomb.  
  
“Oh, that’s interesting,” she said softly, beginning to pour their cups of tea. “That explains why you all slept together in Zanado, then.”  
  
Their blushes burned hotter. “You seem to think this is something you should be ashamed of,” Blythe observed, putting down the tea-pot. “There is no need for such feelings. I am a mercenary; you can die any day out there, and it is important to find happiness where you can get it. If you all bring each other joy, friendship, and intimacy, all the better. I’ve never seen someone fight harder than to protect their lover.”

Dorothea laughed awkwardly at that. “My, my! We, ah… we didn’t think this would go so easily,” she admitted. “We… haven’t told anyone else yet.”  
  
Blythe sipped at her tea, fighting the urge to ruffle Dorothea’s hair, hat and all. “Your secret is safe with me, of course. If ever any of you need to talk to someone about anything, you have my vow of privacy,” she supplied, sipping at the tea. Better than apple blend, but still too sweet for her tastes. 

“Is the tea to everyone’s liking?” she asked, craning her head across the table. Dorothea pointedly took a sip, her face brightening with it.  
  
“Oh, this is amazing, Professor! Albinean Berry Blend, you called it?” she asked, putting her cup back down. “It’s got so much flavor! It’s sweet, but complex! Goodness, how have I not heard of this before?”  
  
“Like I said, my brother paid far too much for this tea,” Blythe answered, rueful smile on her face, refusing to think about what he was doing now.  
  
“U-um, I, um, I have some we could have sometime, together, um, D-Dorie,” stuttered Bernadetta. “I-it’s always been my favorite, and f-father got me a lot of tea so I could m-make, um. Friends.”

“And what say you, Petra?” inquired Blythe with a smile.  
  
“Your prediction was correct, Professor,” she admitted. “It is not to my preferring, but it is a good tea, I must agree.”

They sat in companionable silence after that, sipping at their tea in the morning sun happily.  
  
“Thank you for spending time with me, girls,” said Blythe suddenly, after she’d refilled everyone’s cups. “I know we haven’t talked much, but… I really appreciate your company.”  
  
The group smiled. “Well, when you offer such lovely tea, how can we resist? You should get angry at your brother more often,” Dorothea said with cheeky good humor. Blythe made a soft chuff of amusement.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at being angry with my brother,” she admitted. “I just want us to make up again, even if he’s being difficult right now.”  
  
“Bonds of family are hard to challenge, it is true,” intoned Petra sagely. “But even if he is showing difficulty, he will come back. You are close.”  
  
Blythe turned to Bernadetta. “By the way, I had to wonder... what is that case you brought with you, Bernadetta? Any plans before I stole you all away?” she asked innocently.  
  
“O-oh. Um. W-we like to… d-draw, and paint in the mornings,” she admitted, hastening to confirm. “I-it’s just an easel. Pencils, crayons. N-nothing forbidden!” 

“Quite the opposite, it sounds like. That sounds perfectly lovely,” Blythe admitted wistfully.  
  
“Well, you are here and have shared your tea. We could be sharing our paints?” asked Petra, turning to look at Bernadetta with a soft look on her face.  
  
“U-um, only if the Professor wants…” she mumbled into her chest.  
  
“Well, it has been a strange few days. I’ve never drawn, so please don’t give me anything expensive to work with,” she joked while picking up their cups and emptying the dregs from the kettle and the infuser. She could clean them properly later.

Safely packed away, Blythe followed them to a small grassy spot near the classrooms, where the sun shone and there was a good view of the flowers and plants as well as Garreg Mach’s architecture and the doors to all of the classrooms.

“I’ve never seen you all here,” Blythe observed.

Dorothea shrugged expansively. “Must not have been paying attention,” she teased. “Now come on and get comfortable. Bernie, do you think she’d do well with charcoal?”  
  
“Y-yes. The professor has a nuanced concept of shadows I bet,” she said, clicking the easel’s legs into place. Petra and Dorothea both reached for various art supplies, and they all took a seat in the sunlit grass, looking over their canvases.

Blythe realized quite quickly she... wasn’t much good with charcoal. Her sheet of paper, placed on a board, was little more than awkward geometric shapes, trying to give dimensions to the work which a paper should not be able to contain. She had to wonder how her brother seemed to add motion to his own littered amongst his notes.

All the same, after a bit of finagling and surreptitious coal-smudging, she had what she thought was a serviceable pyramid, which she’d peppered with brick-marks, as well as a lopsided Sword of the Creator she had tried to copy by sight. She smiled ruefully.

It was nice to be bad at things sometimes. To know there was a whole world of knowledge to uncover in a skill.

The girls chatted cheerily, and Blythe left them to it; they clearly had this as a part of their ritual and she didn’t want to intrude on that. They laughed, and smiled, sitting very close to each other, both Petra and Dorothea fawning over Bernadetta’s easel periodically as she painted delicately.

“I’m beginning to wonder what you all find so interesting with Bernadetta’s drawing,” Blythe observed without heat, deadpan as her offer was given. “Will I get to see? I’ll even give you your Professor’s beautiful coal-marks she’s made on this paper in return.” 

Dorothea stuck a hand out, smiling at her. She handed her the board.  
  
“The early works of a master,” Blythe clarified, as the three of them looked at the pile of nothing-impressive she’d worked on. She didn’t have the skill to put what she really had on her mind to life, so she didn’t try.

“Early indeed, Professor,” said Dorothea wryly. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. She’s got some potential, doesn’t she Bernie?”

“Yes!” she said affirmatively, voice for once audible without effort. “Y-your life drawing is a bit awkward with the details… obviously, but you managed a good sense of the physicality of the sword’s dimensions, and the pyramid, while simple, has clean and detailed accents that show an attention to more technical things you can also see in the cracks you drew on the Sword, like how you had your little sun realistically show the right angular shadow,” she said, in probably the most words she’d ever heard Bernadetta speak without stuttering. Or at all.  
  
She looked to Bernadetta’s two girlfriends, and was vindicated to see the both of them watching her with lovestruck eyes.

“Oh,” breathed Blythe, surprised. “Truly? I thought I was making a fool of myself.” 

“N-no! Everyone starts out like this Professor, everyone. Y-you should keep practicing!” she urged, hands clenched by her shoulders, brush dripping, before she immediately squeaked and put it back.

  
Blythe’s mind went quiet, for a moment.

“Could I see your piece, Bernadetta?” she asked gently. “I’d love to see it.”  
  
“A-actually, um, you can have it, if you want…” she murmured softly, proffering the canvas face-down.  
  
“That’s very kind of you, Bernadetta,” she said, surprised and touched, her chest loosening at the sweetness of the gesture.  
  
With a suspenseful turn, she flipped it over to reveal what it was.

It was simply a picture of her, and that simple fact struck her dumb.

She had gotten her hair just so, _just_ the right shade of blue in watercolor, the grass green and vibrant, roses on the hedge in the distance. Her face looked peaceful as she sat working quietly on her drawings.  
  


It was a cruel revelation, a fact she already knew given new meaning:

  
Bernadetta really shouldn’t be here, should she?

Not because she wasn’t cut out for war, but because she was so clearly meant for art. Blythe was swept away by the piece, simple, delicate, drawn in perhaps an hour, painting a subject, but she had given it a life she never knew she could have. Blythe looked _alive_ in that picture like she rarely felt she was. The sunlight struck her in the portrait, and she felt she was beautiful.

Without another word, Blythe gently put down her supplies and the painting in the middle of the circle before standing to walk around the circle, kneel down and wrap Bernadetta in a firm hug, one hand tangled into Bernadetta’s hair, making her squeak in surprise as Blythe leaned in to savor Bernadetta’s scent.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered softly, stroking her hair. “It’s beautiful.”  
  
“A-ah! Ummm! Ehhhhhh….” squeaked Bernadetta, before she slowly calmed, arms slowly falling down to her sides.

Gently, she let go. “I love it,” she said again.  
  
“We knew you would,” Petra said with a smile.  
  
“Yeah, we both just gave each other a look when we saw what Bernie was painting,” she said, giving a light chuckle.

“You are an amazing artist, Bernadetta,” Blythe found herself saying before she could think to stop. “I hope you keep to your art, for the world would be worse without such beauty in it.”  
  
Petra and Dorothea laughed, while Bernadetta just hid in Petra’s shoulder.  
  
“We’ve all come to that conclusion. This is just the Bernadetta fan club,” Dorothea said warmly.

“You see, Bernie?” coaxed Petra, stroking her back. “We told you it was beautiful. Even the Professor is thinking so!”  
  
Bernadetta made a miserable noise, snuggling in tighter while Dorothea came around to wrap herself around Bernadetta as well, while Blythe simply savored the scene unfolding before her.  
  
Her children were so beautiful, she thought, and she couldn’t resist sliding into the hug as well, awkwardness be damned .  
  
She held them all tight, savoring the scent of them all, her heart soaring at the feeling. They smelled so good, so unique, and so wonderful together. Bernadetta smelled of the greenhouse, fresh, healthy leaves, lavender and apple while Dorothea was electric, smelling pungently of strawberries, star anise and leather, and Petra smelled wild, like clean fur, salty surf and hot, humid tropical winds.

“My darlings…” she murmured, despite herself.

When the hug finally ended, she was very relieved to see it hadn’t been awkward. They all smiled at one another, peaceful and happy.

They all sat back in the grass, staring up at the sky shoulder to shoulder.  
  
“You were a real mess over Flayn, Professor,” Dorothea observed neutrally. “Are you feeling better now?”

Blythe was quiet at that. She didn’t know what to say. She was happy Flayn was safe, but it wasn’t safe to say why she was so worried, and certainly not wise to talk about anything that had been said or done in the infirmary.

“...Maybe. I’m sorry I let you all fall to the wayside the last few days,” she admitted. “I was not myself.”

“Hey, who doesn’t like a little vacation now and then?” Dorothea answered breezily, obviously trying to smooth over the issue.

“Well, vacation is cancelled, I’m afraid,” she said bluntly, stance firm. “I won’t rest until you are all as safe as I can make you.” 

“We will not disappear, Professor,” said Petra gently, a hand reaching over Dorothea to rest on Blythe’s elbow. “We are strong.”  
  
It felt like the very sun darkened with her mood at that. “I worry you’ll need to be much stronger still in the days to come,” she nearly whispered. Manaketes. Slitherers. Emperors. Something was coming, and her pack needed to be strong. Whether that pack was her family or her children.

They lay there in the sun, saying nothing more as the grass rustled softly in the wind. She could smell them near her, their scents happy and at ease, and she was glad for that. It meant she could move on from here safely.

“I should go prepare the arena,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage, pulling herself up. “It’s a training day, so I hope you’re all ready for a good sweat.”

“Do we have toooo?” moaned Dorothea dramatically, hand to her forehead.

Blythe’s answer was a simple, blunt “Yes.”

Without another word, she stepped off, heading towards the classroom to place the “arena day” sign she’d made back in the first week of classes on the doorknob. She crept in, fumbling along the wall for the folder she’d hanged with the sign, pulling it out and placing it on the knob.

Its cheerful little fist, awkwardly drawn, invited Black Eagle students to the Arena for Training Day.

With a blustery sigh, she proceeded to the hall to prepare it for the drills she had planned.

She wasn’t particularly surprised to see the familiar sight of a Blue Lion in the midst of his own; almost every day she’d come to the arena for a physical day she’d found him there.  
  
“Hello Felix,” she said neutrally. The Lion took a brief pause from his form training to wipe the sweat off his brow and grunt in her direction.  
  
“Did that tip I gave you help at all?” she asked politely.  
  
“It didn’t hurt. It surprised the Professor but he still didn’t let me into his guard,” the boy said without heat. “Useful though. Worked on the Boar.”  
  
“Ah, I’m not surprised; I’ve used that trick too often on my brother in our spars. He probably has it down to muscle memory at this point,” she admitted, trying not to let the pang she felt at the memory sour her mood.  
  
She shook away the thought. “Keep at it, Felix. You’re already one of the best swordsmen in the student body, of that there’s little doubt,” she said as she reached into one of the communal training closets to pull out the training plate, really just boiled leather stuffed with rags to soften blows for contact exercises.

Felix, meanwhile, scoffed theatrically. “Stop trying to butter me up,” he said, unconvincingly.

“I don’t have any butter, so I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said bluntly, making him snort.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You’re odd, both of you,” he said, with what probably passed for fondness coming from the Lion.  
  
“You’re the one saying I butter people like some sort of lunatic. Run off to class, Felix, it’s starting soon,” she chided gently, privately hoping he’d find his Professor where he should be. 

She didn’t know which way her bet would go therein.

Felix made a noncommittal noise, putting away his practice sword. “Later then,” the boy said as the first of her Eagles appeared at the door.  
  
“Hello Professor!” called Ferdinand happily, hair combed, begloved and looking a bit silly for physical practice, but she wasn’t one to judge. Butter notwithstanding.

“Hi, Ferdinand,” she answered softly, a smile creeping onto her face as she greeted the enthusiastic boy.  
  
“What are we doing today?” he asked, with all the energy of an excited pup.

“Some defensive drills, mostly; tactics for dealing with stronger enemies. It’s a reactive lesson,” she explained broadly. “One kidnapping is quite enough for me,” she said in what she hoped was a joking tone but came out leaden and serious.

Ferdinand’s eyes sharpened at her statement. “Of course, Professor. We all saw how Flayn’s disappearance had bothered you. To think that same terrible knight from the catacombs could have been the one responsible!” he said, clenching his fist in righteous anger. “He is an ignoble cad, Professor! I, Ferdinand von Aegir, would never allow him to capture me!”

Her heart melted, the voice in her head keening.

He was trying to put her at ease in his own way, she realized slowly. He cared about her mental health and was trying to sooth her. And before she realized what she was doing, she ruffled his hair affectionately, taking him into a light hug to breathe in his scent quickly.

It was dense; hard to pick out underneath a surprising amount of herbal tea scents. He was probably the only boy who could match Byleth’s tea obsession, if not directly responsible for it in some way. Beneath it though, his scent was strong and clean: rose petals and applewood smoke, harmonizing in surprising synchronicity.

She pulled back, her smile somehow warmer in a way she didn’t know how to fake. “You’re sweet, Ferdinand. Thank you.”

Privately, she was amused to see the way he flushed scarlet at the contact and her words. He really was a sweet, innocent boy.  
  
She would do all she could to protect that idealism that had withered for her so long ago.

And she’d do the same for Caspar, who had just burst through the door acting as herald for the rest of the class as it would seem.

  
She watched in indescribable peace despite the cacophony as the arena filled with her children, heart warming with every face she saw come to see her.

She may not have Flayn, right then, but her Eagles were just as good.  
  
“Hello, class,” she called once everyone had gathered around.

It had been a good lesson, she decided after all the students had left and she was alone in the classroom jotting her notes.

Everyone had taken surprisingly well to the change in curriculum, not a word of complaint voiced as she pushed them through drills, intentionally outmatching them to force them to adapt to being outranked.

Her lessons had been well-used, and she had taken more than a few headbutts to the jaw to prove it. She was thankful her brother forced her to learn enough faith magic to make the ache less demanding.

She had to admit, getting to personally instruct each of her students in how to get out of various holds had been pleasing to her voice as well.  
  
Her students smelled so beautiful, and every time they broke free she was stricken by how she was proud of their ability to break away, and mournful that she couldn’t hold onto them a bit longer.

She hoped it wasn’t impacting her teaching abilities, because it was becoming impossible to resist in day-to-day life. Her desire to touch her students, hold them, cuddle them and keep them safe was irresistible. She was just thankful her students didn’t seem to mind.

All the same, she felt guilty. She’d never asked, and she knew she wasn’t socially conscious enough to know when her touch was unwelcome. They weren’t like her, they didn’t get the same high from the contact she did. To them she was just a strange mercenary who enjoyed sharing long, lingering touches with her students.

Oh, stars, is _that_ what she seemed like?  
  
With a piteous moan, she let her head fall to rest on her class ledger, grumbling nonsense into the pages.

She sat there, grumbling uselessly into the signatures until she was distracted by a soft voice coming from nearby.  
  
“...My teacher?”

As if she’d been shocked, she shot up straight in her chair, eyes wide, face carefully blank.  
  
“Yes! Yes, hello. Edelgard. Yes. You. Are Edelgard. Yes. Hello Edelgard,” she managed to force out like the suave conversationalist she knew herself to be.

She’d give anything at that moment for Sothis to pull her back with a Pulse.

Despite all indications, however, Edelgard merely giggled quietly behind her hand.  
  
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked, a smile evident in her voice.  
  
“Nothing urgent,” she sighed, looking down at the ledger. “Just marking everyone’s efforts for today,” she murmured.

“I...” began Edelgard, clutching at her chest with her off hand. “...How is Flayn?” she asked gently.

Blythe stiffened, then sighed, deflating. “She’s… stable,” she managed. “I’ve no word since my discussion with Seteth, but I’d assume he’s on leave to watch over her until she recovers, whenever that may be.”  
  
“What… what happened?” she asked, everything about her countenance nervous, as if she was asking for forbidden knowledge.  
  
Blythe stood silent, lip quirking downward. “I’m afraid that’s classified at this time, Edelgard. You’ll have to get that answer from Flayn herself or not at all.”  
  
Edelgard stepped back as if struck, before nodding quickly. “O-of course, I understand. Everything about that, ah, that day, is likely a dangerous topic…” she confirmed. “I just… wanted to see if you were okay.”

Blythe said nothing for a long moment at that, still sitting straight, staring with wide eyes and a blank face at her house leader until finally she exhaled, a soft “oh…” echoing between them.

“I… have been better, Edelgard. But it is nothing I cannot overcome,” she said diplomatically, her chest constricting the voice in her head demanding and insistent.

 _Claim her,_ it whispered, as if she knew what it meant. _Take her love and offer your own,_ it demanded with a thunderous strike against her self-control.

“...Thank you for your concern,” she said, hands clasped tightly over her ledger, fighting the urge to reach over and touch her, to smell past the lavender and blade oil that hung around her like a veil and smell the truth of her.

“Is there nothing I can do, my teacher?” asked Edelgard plaintively, leaning forward, hair tantalizingly close, the smell of her cleaning products filling her nose. That’s where the lavender smell came from, not a true perfume, she confirmed, her mouth watering at the knowledge for some reason.

“I…” Blythe struggled with herself. Edelgard made her feelings clear, she thought. Did she misunderstand? She thought they had agreed, was she seeing something that wasn’t there? She was so close, she came willingly, she hadn’t stepped closer to her at all, but she was close enough to breathe. Stars, she smelled _divine,_ she knew she’d smell even better if their scents were to be mixed…

“I don’t… think it would be wise for you to assist me in this, Edelgard,” she managed to choke out, the voice howling in anguish at her words. Her knuckles were white.

“Professor, are you certain? You don’t look well…” she said softly, touching Blythe’s bangs to brush them out of her eyes and having her make a noise that would haunt her dreams.

Stars, it was a mewl. Like some oversexed teenager she’d _mewled_ when her student so much as touched her. What was wrong with her? How could she control this?  
  
“M-my teacher?” she asked, voice high and alarmed.

Blythe said nothing, stiff and still as a statue, teeth grit as she tried desperately to marshal her flagging self-control.  
  
When she had the other students around, it was easier to ignore, so many scents to breathe, children to care for, but when it was just her with what she was being forced to realize was still an object of her affection, alone, her instincts had grown claws.  
  
“Edelgard, I… am not a normal person,” she ground out, each word a trial. “My body is… reacting to you, in a way that I cannot allow it to, and it is difficult to resist. For both our sakes, please, leave for now.”

It was Edelgard’s turn to be silent, not even kind enough to pull back, the smell of lavender wrapping itself around her, dragging her into a mire from which she wasn’t sure she had the strength to free herself.

She wasn’t even seeing anymore, simply staring at nothing and trying to keep her body from reacting to the stimuli around her, which made Edelgard’s response all the more damning to her.  
  
“What if I allowed you?” she asked, her voice lower, curious, almost predatory. “What if my body was reacting to you too?” she asked, heels clicking as she walked around the desk, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Blythe blurred, pushing her chair back with a harsh scrape, her hand grabbing Edelgard’s wrist, backing herself against the wall of the room, her lungs a bellows now, taking heaving gasps in a frantic effort to control herself.  
  
“Don’t…” she managed to gasp. “I thought…”  
  
Edelgard stepped closer, delicately removing Blythe’s hand from her wrist finger by finger.  
  
She pressed into her space, until they were inches apart, the shorter woman pushing a hand up against the wall next to her cheek.  
  
“Do you want this?” she asked breathily, the first hints of her true scent hitting her like a drug. Ash, no, flowers, no, earth, amber…

“Yes,” she gasped desperately, hands pressed tightly against her waist, not daring to move. “I want you,” she choked out like a sin and confession all at once.

“Then you may have me, Blythe,” she whispered, leaning forward and claiming her lips in a supernova that shorted the voice out completely, replaced by a long, loud, cry of joy filling her head like a Choir hymn.

“Ah—” she gasped, as Edelgard kissed her again, slow and unhurried, gently teasing at her lips, nibbling softly as her hands slid over Blythe’s body, her touch so light as to be chaste but which still lit her aflame.

Oh, stars, oh, gods, anyone who could hear, she was going to burn away, and there would be nothing left of her.  
  
“Edelgard..!” she gasped, all but collapsing onto the smaller woman who caught her effortlessly. 

“How long have you been resisting, Blythe? ...I’m sorry. It must have been so difficult,” she murmured, rubbing soothing circles into her back, her very soul all but weeping for the relief of having her special one touching her.

Whatever small part of her that still remained functional was surprised at herself. She had felt it building: the hunger, the need to be close, but this time, the two of them alone, it had devoured her. She didn’t know what it meant, but those worries were absurdly unimportant in the moment she was in, breathing in the scent of who the voice recognized as Special, as Important, a bond she didn’t have a word for.

She smelled like fire, like heat; an echo of Rhea, hiding beneath her scent, acting as a bedrock. Her scent invigorated her, the spice of chili opening her nose completely, letting her savor the notes hidden inside the overwhelming darkness of her scent: heavy, almost humid. It was like drowning in heat, the only breath of life and freshness to her scent the delectable scent of mint, strong and almost overpowering once one reached it, pushing away the darkness.

It was like frost and fire.

  
It was like she had been searching for this scent and what caused it her whole life.  
  
She breathed her in unapologetically, shaky hands wrapping around her waist as Edelgard stroked her hair, kissing softly at her neck in the way Flayn said was only for those intimate with one another.

Stars, it sent lightning up her spine to live in her skull, lighting her up from the inside.

She was so slick even just from these gentle touches, her face burning, nearly hyperventilating from her gasps, trying to swallow up Edelgard’s scent and make it a part of her in great, heaving mouthfuls. 

“I’m here, sweet one,” Edelgard soothed, nuzzling into her neck just the way she liked, somehow. “I’m yours,” she whispered, and that broke her all the more.

  
Edelgard was hers? Edelgard, the woman she wanted, said she was _hers_ . She was delirious, overcome with joy, and desire, and so many other emotions. To hear she was hers _,_ hers _, hers_ made her voice all but collapse, her chest tight with need, with unnameable want and desire she had no words for, no understanding of.

  
“But you may not bite me, my sweet,” she whispered then, as if reading her mind before the thought even occurred, her instincts seeming to judder to a stop.

What—?  
  
“Shhh....” she whispered, laving her tongue over her neck, forcing yet more embarrassing noises out her, but she was too far gone to care. “You may not do that, but I am yours all the same,” she almost sing-songed, a hand reaching up to grasp her clothed breast, making her nearly shout from the intensity of the simple act.  
  
“ _Fuck,_ ” she cursed in the old tongue, heedless of secrecy or anything else, her mind splattered across the inside of her skull.

Lead by the hand, Edelgard brought her back to her chair, pushing her gently to fall back into it bonelessly so that Edelgard would climb into her lap, legs reclining over an arm, her arms wrapped around Blythe’s neck.

“It’s okay, sweetling… I understand. I’ll give you what I can, sweet Blythe. I… I tried, but just like you, I can’t deny myself,” she murmured, nuzzling back into Blythe’s neck, her body seeming to finally relent at least a bit as what was fire and lightning slowly simmered down into a soothing heat.

“I always considered myself strong-willed, but to think of you fighting yourself at every turn, for my benefit no less…” Edelgard murmured, suddenly cutting herself off.  
  
“I’m tired of resisting you,” Edelgard said, cutting herself off as if preparing to get a painful secret off of her chest . “I tried to resist, because I knew I would hurt you. Now, I know I will, and all the same I can’t resist. For that, with all of my heart, I am sorry for what my weakness will cause you. I can only hope you would understand, once that day comes.”

Blythe was silent for a long moment at that. "We'll hurt each other," she agreed, voice hoarse. "But there is something special between us. It is not love. It is... I'm afraid no matter how you hurt me, I could only love you more."

She held Edelgard close, stroking delicate fingers down her back.

  
“All we can do is be our best for each other,” she decided, pulling Edelgard closer, the smaller woman curling into her chest, nestled against her scent gland in a way that soothed her enormously, a weight lifting from her chest had been there so long she had forgotten it was even there.

“Maybe we’re fools,” Edelgard sighed. “But fools have a way of changing the world, I’ve come to find.”  
  
Blythe stroked at her silky, lavender-scented hair. She had nothing to say to that. She only hoped her actions gave some idea of the depth of her feelings, because even now she didn’t understand them completely.

Blythe wanted to ask why. Why now, why here, why at all, but she didn’t dare break the precious moment that had fallen over them. She likely had complicated reasons, just as she did.  
  
Her time with her brother since they’d arrived at Garreg Mach had taught her the importance of keeping secrets for the sake of others. Whatever came from this, she would simply react accordingly. She knew Edelgard had secrets, as did everyone in this thrice-damned monastery, but she didn’t care. The voice in her head, the weight in her chest, they didn’t care about that, and she was coming to realize that secrets were unavoidable.

She had no doubt there would be pain to come; she could see it clearly in the future. Edelgard’s words left no question, even if it seemed impossible in the moment. All the same, she was already preparing for the inevitable, because she couldn’t afford not to be hurt. She needed Edelgard too much.

But her mind was shaking apart inside her head, her instincts screaming, howling, and she knew they would only grow stronger until she found how to sooth them. This was helping, Edelgard was _helping_. She didn’t know what was going on, or why she seemed to be choosing her words so carefully, but she didn’t care. If she knew what she was, fine. She didn’t care; not truly. It was only a secret for the sake of Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn. If she could, she’d wear the truth of herself on her back for all to see.

She held Edelgard close, the smaller woman sighing contentedly as she sank further into Blythe’s chair with her. She’d never been so happy to have a chair that was larger than what she thought she needed, as she slowly left soft kisses at her throat, her cheek, her beautiful lips.  
  
The way Edelgard smiled so unreservedly brought her great and terrible joy. This alone was enough to keep going, to keep fighting.

She remembered those drunken ramblings so long ago, how in her cups she decided that Edelgard was someone who could use her, could make her sword’s grim work _mean_ something and serve a proper _purpose._

All because Edelgard had lost herself, in their privacy, with a bit too much to drink.

  
Perhaps she was just a fool, to fall so completely over so precious little, but she’d never let that stop her from doing what felt right.

  
She wanted to trust in Edelgard, that she might not be alone.


	22. A Chalice Full of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth doesn't want to deal with the concerns of the surface world, so he delves deeper into the Abyss, falling into intrigue he did not count on.
> 
> Byleth survives, and learns some important truths about himself and those around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for your patience. We apologize for our tardiness, but we hope this extra-long chapter soothes. Fun fact, our Core Document is officially over 300 pages, so hooray us!

Yuri had come to a simple, straightforward conclusion once they’d all made their way down into the Chasm.

  
He didn’t like robots. Or whatever those were.

It had been a hard fight; it was a game of harrier, darting in and out of the range of those gigantic machines to get hits in before they could retaliate, until finally they grabbed the key one had been holding and turned them all off at one of those strange statues.

It was vaguely ridiculous. Who built these stupid machines, and who gave them such a strange security mechanism? He had half a mind to find whoever it was and give them a proper shakedown. He had wounds that would hurt him for weeks.

It was nonsense. Yuri doubted he could even take advantage of them. It’s not like anyone ever came down here.

He sighed, forlorn and exhausted as Sad Constance mumbled something about the Chalice over with the Wolves and the House Lords.  
  
It was just him and their Professor, Byleth looking poutier than usual, even if the average person wouldn’t be able to tell.

  
He’d been off the past few days; he’d been down in Abyss every night, sleeping in the Classroom as he dug around, grilling Aelfric and trying to find the answers to something he didn’t want anyone to know about.

Well, knowing he didn’t want him to know made it so he _had_ to know, and in short order he’d figured out a lot of surprising information about Byleth’s long-dead mom.

Like, for starters, that she had been incomparably beautiful. Subjective at best, really, but if the offspring was any evidence, then he supposed the pedigree was valid.

She’d been well-read, too, which was something arguably more substantial to go by, but what intrigued him most was what asked more questions: that she was remarkably frail.

From what he’d seen of Byleth, that trait had failed to catch resoundingly. To hear Byleth tell it, his sister was even better, to boot.

There were definitely pieces not adding up, and Yuri had spent the last portion of his life learning everything there was to know about Garreg Mach and Abyss. Being introduced to a mysterious variable he hadn’t been aware of bothered him.  
  
His professor was the child of someone raised, maybe even born in Garreg Mach. That was rare and suspicious. The number of people properly born in Garreg Mach proper was vanishingly slim, and even in the birth and death records he found no sign of this ‘Sitri,’ Eisner or otherwise, not even when she would have died or anywhere else.  
  
It was like she was a ghost, but one people remembered.

Mercifully, the issue was put aside when a resounding ‘crack’ echoed through the chasm, a hole appearing in the wall, surrounded by crest markings. Constance was… yep, that was a cup alright. Well there it was, simple as that.

Great. So Aelfric’s plan was going to go ahead, and his would too by necessity.

He looked over at Byleth, frowning. How did that one feel about all this? From what he’d gathered, Sitri was his mother, and Aelfric had… _designs_ involving her. He didn’t know how to feel about that.  
  
As they walked back up the interminably tall chasm underground, Yuri only had eyes for Byleth.

For how well he kept up his stoic facade, Yuri could see the cracks in it. The guy was a mess emotionally.

Which tracked, from what little his birds had been able to tell him. His only friend was his twin, and no one could find evidence of his existence that wasn’t on a battlefield or in a classroom. An Ashen Demon who’d been killing for coin professionally since before his voice had cracked. Maybe even since he learned to walk.

How he so readily agreed to help them, when Aelfric had offered him the mere suggestion that he knew something about his mother was frankly sad. As in, it actually made him feel _bad_ for him.

Though, he wasn’t one to talk. He’d do anything for his mom.

The walk was long, and the Wolves and Lords seemed to be getting along well. The secret prince was doing a pretty good job of not letting on how hard he was trying to get information about Abyss and everything else, Edelgard was paying _way_ too much attention to the gates and security measures in place _not_ to be suspicious for those paying attention, and Dimitri was just trying not to make the way he mooned at his professor too obvious and failing.

He bit back a scoff. If you wanted something, you had to step up and take it before someone else did.  
  
And considering how choice his target was, he was already too late, if Yuri had any say in the matter.

He just… had a sadness to him, that Yuri found beautiful despite himself. Smart, skillful, heroic, knew how to keep his mouth shut. He was a complete package, and the pain that lived inside of him was so beautiful.  
  
The foolish man really didn’t know how much he was hurting inside; had no idea. Just a sweet, foolish, repressed man who needed to loosen up.

He could help with that.

When they finally got back ‘up’ to Abyss, he couldn’t say he was _surprised_ that something had gone wrong. After all, Aelfric had set it up himself.

Keeping their suspicions tamped down while they bickered and worried was annoying, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He knew how the Wolves ticked. No, his biggest variables were the Lords and Byleth.

The Lords were… bemusingly on-board with helping them all. He wouldn’t say he knew how people were — anyone who said that was gonna get rooked — but he certainly hadn’t met much of anyone willing to stick their neck out like this for near-strangers skittering in the dark with nothing to offer in return.

And then Hapi wandered in with the ransom letter, blah blah blah, dead unless they brought the cup, all that garbage Aelfric thought he was being coy and hinting at and not writing on his forehead like the amateur tactician he was.

What a pain.

With as breezy a countenance as he could manage, he made his way up to Rhea to play out the little one-act farce they’d planned months ago, the rest of the party fretting after the hard talk he’d been using to get them up there to “admit” everything to Rhea.

It was kind of frustrating, how knowing everything that was going on often left him feeling like a puppet on a string as he worked to make events go as planned.

Aelfric was always telling him not to play around, but how else was he going to keep occupied while he was playing whatever role he was meant to play?

“Lady Rhea,” he called, once they barged into her sanctum unannounced. She looked at him with blank eyes, nodding subtly in understanding of what was happening.He saw how her eyes slid over Byleth, a pinch she almost never saw appearing in her forehead.

Odd.

“We have important matters to discuss,” he said as clearly as he could. “Aelfric has been kidnapped.”  
  
Rhea’s eyes gave away nothing; whatever someone’s opinion on Rhea, they couldn’t deny her impressive poker face.

The farce played out as planned; the chalice, the code phrases, Rhea knew what was going on and would plan accordingly. She was no fool.

So, now he had to prepare another gambit, this time for Aelfric. Bothersome, but manageable. The man was a mage, he’d surely have magics prepared to teleport them all quickly.

The thought of how he’d get the Wolves into position left a bitter taste in his mouth, though.

“Yuri.”  
  
He nearly jolted at the soft voice close to his ear. “Ah, hello Professor,” he said as amicably as he could manage. “Can I help you?”

He stared at him with those piercing eyes, something going unsaid as their eyes locked.  
  
“What do you make of all this?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Well, as far as walking into bald-faced traps are concerned I suppose we could do worse,” he jested, mastering himself. “More seriously, we’ll manage. Aelfric may not seem like it, but he keeps tricks up his sleeve. We just have to play it by ear and maybe slit a few throats. Nothing new. The others are sweating it, but it will sort itself. Even if the bandits or whoever get the Chalice, the Knights will hunt them until the sun burns out to get it back. Rhea’s not letting that thing go.”  
  
“You know Rhea well, then,” he observed, surprising him. Why would he care what he thought about Rhea?  
  
“I’ve lived in her basement for a good chunk of my life, so I’d say I’ve developed an opinion on her, just like anyone else,” he hedged cautiously. “Why?”

“I don’t trust her,” he said, almost obstinately. He quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed.  
  
“Okay, why?” he asked as they walked their way back to the graveyard that was the easiest entrance into Abyss, the others having already left.

“Because—” The man caught himself, seeming to swallow something he wanted to say. Curiouser and curiouser. “Because she never tells the whole truth,” he said firmly. “She only says enough to make you do what she wants.”  
  
“And?” he asked, legitimately confused. “She’s the archbishop of Fódlan, she’s in charge of a continent-spanning religion. You think you get there without knowing how to make people do what she wants? Of course she has secrets. If she told people everything she knew about what was going on she’d never be able to plan, and there’d probably be riots in the streets. I don’t understand why this would be an issue for you,” he said, intentionally trying to prickle him to get him to actually spill what was bothering him. He knew the man had secrets too, and he wanted to know more.

He clammed up at that, not quite pouting, but giving off much the same aura. By the time they made it into Abyss proper, Yuri was quite sick of seeing his pretty face almost-frowning and dragged him into the classroom, away from everyone else.

When he’d closed the door, he took advantage, pressing himself up into his personal space and looking up at him with lidded eyes. “I have secrets too, you know. Want to hear a couple?” he asked huskily, finger tracing circles along his chest and making Byleth’s eyes widen.

Byleth swallowed, almost imperceptibly. “Such as?” he asked.

But he didn’t back away.

_Fun_.

“Depends. Are you gonna tell me some of _your_ secrets?” he husked, sliding lidded eyes over his body. Even if it was just for show, he really did have to admit; he was a catch.

“...I don’t have any secrets,” Byleth said a moment too late to be truthful, only seconded by the time it took to meet his eyes.

Yuri laughed, mocking. “Oh, I’ve met the one person in the world who doesn’t have any secrets,” he teased, sharp and cutting. “You can just say you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to lie to my face,” he said, voice softening suddenly. “But then I thought you liked me better than that.”

He really was a lamb among wolves in this arena; it was almost endearing.

“I don’t intend to insinuate otherwise,” Byleth said in a voice that he had perhaps meant to be smaller.

“Oh?” Yuri said, allowing his eyebrows to raise a fair amount. “And what _did_ you intend?”

Byleth’s eyes flicked away in the way Yuri knew to mean the other person was contemplating what to share and what to hide, rendering the tell itself ironic for all intent and purpose. It was almost funny.

“Tell you what, Professor,” Yuri said, drawing his eyes back to his. “How about we start small?”

This made Byleth’s brow furrow ever so slightly, enough that it registered enough as his brand of emote but not so much that it marred his pretty face with wrinkles. “What do you mean by small?”

“Hm, like how I prefer lilacs to royals,” Yuri said with a chuckle and a cocked head that would read as a coy invitation as he sidled up to him and all but looped an arm around his neck.

Yuri could have sworn Byleth flushed a bit, but it vanished in the time it would’ve taken him to blink. “That’s not a real secret.”

This drew a quick bark of a laugh out of him. “No, I suppose not. Your turn.”

Byleth frowned. “But I knew that already. You can tell just from looking at you. That’s not fair.”

“Hm, no, I made the game, so I make the rules,” Yuri said with a smile befitting a victory, even a petty one. “And the rules say that I told you something about me, so now you have to tell me something about you. _Reciprocation_ makes it fair.”

“Charlatan.”

“Hm? Could you speak a bit louder? I couldn’t catch that.”

“Nothing,” Byleth said with a tone that let Yuri know he was on the backpedal. “Um… my first weapon was a shortsword.”

“Oh? Mine was a dagger. Your turn again,” Yuri said, earning him a pout that was just _darling_ for how almost juvenile it was.

“... I have a morning routine I’m told is too complicated,” he said through grit teeth, as if daring him to find issue with his offering. Or start pulling.  
  
Oh, he just wanted to pinch his cheek, he was _darling._  
  
“Good, good!” he cooed, trailing a finger along his chest. “You’re a quick study,” he said, trying to soothe him now that he was willing to play ball.  
  
“Hmm, what to say…” he mused, finger running from Byleth’s chest up to his lips, tracing them delicately.

“As a boy, I lead a gang. We were quite skilled. I’d still be with them, if it weren’t a bad contract that forced me into hiding here in Abyss,” he admitted easily. It was important not to let the other person know how valuable the information they were being given was, after all. “I miss them.”  
  
“A gang? What kind? Were you mercenaries?” asked Byleth, eyes a bit brighter with curiosity.  
  
Got him.

“Nothing so formal as that; we were street rats, and we did what street rats do: whatever they need to in order to get by,” he admitted gustily. “I don’t know what being a mercenary was like, but for us, if it was profitable, we did it,” he stated unapologetically.

“My father had us do jobs that kept us out of major holds for the most part. Enough to make us known, but nothing for anyone of status,” Byleth said almost absently, as if he hadn’t just handed him a valuable piece of information like one might a puzzle.

This could have been almost damnable depending on who heard it. Keeping the mercenary band out of the limelight meant keeping Byleth and his sister away from prying eyes, away from nobility, away from the Knights.

Away from the Church.

...Away from _Rhea_.

Suddenly Byleth’s general cluelessness made sense. Or ignorance rather, he supposed. But that raised the question of what interest Jeralt Eisner would have in keeping his children away from the Word of Seiros. 

“Hm, curious. Your father preferred to keep to smaller missions? Surprising, considering his reputation. He could probably have named his price; a company trained by the Captain of the Knights of Seiros is as dangerous as a mercenary group could get, if I had to guess,” he mused with his hands behind his head. “Ah, well,” he finished breezily.  
  
“Your turn,” he said, amused crinkle to his eye as he smiled back at Byleth, a touch more sincere.  
  
“What? But I just told you something,” Byleth protested, only to have a finger wave in front of his nose.  
  
“Ah-ah. You asked a follow-up question, I answered, and you volunteered information,” he said cheekily, a coy grin on his face. “Sorry, Professor, but you played yourself there.”

Oh, but he’d be so much more willing to take pouts as a reward if he could monetize them for how many Byleth gave him. They were worth their weight in gold.

“...Fine,” he huffed in a way that was distinctly unbecoming of a professor. He took a moment to search his thoughts, if the way he seemed to bite the inside of his cheek was any indication, before he looked back at him. “I have never celebrated my birthday on the same day.”

Yuri tilted his head in amusement. “...Because you and your sister trade days, so you each have your own day?” he said, going for a joke.  
  
Byleth shook his head. “No. My dad said he didn’t remember.”

Yuri wanted to be annoyed at the answer, but it was plausible. He was out on missions, maybe he truly didn’t know. He decided to bide his time.  
  
“What did you do on your birthdays, the two of you? Did you have cakes, or anything?” he asked, trying to keep things light for how deceptively gentle he was being. He wanted to get to his mother, to learn what he knew. Maybe he could help him fill in the blanks.

“Does this count as a follow-up question?” Byleth asked, earning him a genuine laugh.

“I just might grow fond of you yet,” Yuri said, wiping some imagined tear from his eye. “But we’ll say it is.”

But Byleth, it seemed, had found something more interesting than the game, and in a vulnerably small voice asked, “You weren’t already?”

_Oh_.

Yuri would say he hadn’t expected to have this effect on him, no, but as far as admissions went, this sentiment was a first. Most people he charmed, purposefully or otherwise, didn’t tend to act on… heartfelt impulses. They tended to skew towards the carnal, not so much love as lust.

But here Byleth was, being more honest, more soft than anyone with a survival instinct _should_. He was helpless.

A lamb, indeed.

And he wouldn’t be the one to bring the knife down upon him.

“It’s just a figure of speech,” Yuri said, remaining carefully detached for all it would muster. “You should hear the ones Constance gets hung up on.”

“I’m not interested in gossip,” Byleth said in a neutral tone — one that Yuri could now identify as a mask — and Yuri knew he’d mistepped.

All that progress lost with one blunder.

“Ah—my mistake, I didn’t mean to overstep,” he offered sheepishly, a nervous smile on his face. “But.. I did have something more important to discuss with you, Professor…” he began, his voice taking on a graver tone.  
  
The frown didn’t fully vanish from his face, but Yuri was pleased to see his eyes widen, giving him his full attention.  
  
“There’s something about Aelfric I need you to know, and I assure you it’s _not_ gossip,” he said seriously as he scoped the halls before closing the classroom door and locking it with a firm ‘click.’

He turned to face him. “Before I tell you, though, I need to know: do you think you can trust me?” he asked, alarmed when his voice seemed to shudder as he spoke, a tremor of insecurity lacing his tone.

  
No. Yuri had to remain strong, especially now, when the end-game was coming. An epaulette mate like he’d planned would be a fine feather in his cap.  
  
Aelfric deserved to be thoroughly outplayed and showed what real manipulation looked like.

He looked at Byleth seriously, forcing his voice to remain steady? “Well? I need an answer, because I need to know you’ll believe what I’m about to say,” he stated neutrally, offering nothing.

Byleth’s mask was like porcelain. Good. At least he had one good trait for tradecraft. 

“I think I am able to listen to what you say and offer the benefit of the doubt,” he said, each word said slowly, picked with care. He was beginning to understand the games they played. Good.  
  
Yuri’s lips twitched upwards. “It’s all I ask,” he said affirmatively, before placing a finger up to his chin, tilting his head coquettishly.  
  
“Well… one more thing. Why don’t we pick up the game again?” he said, eyes glinting.

Watching his eyes sharpen, the set of his mouth tightening, it was satisfying. He was rapt, he was completely engrossed in what he was saying, and he had to admit he was enjoying his attention for more than one reason.

“We’ll say it’s my turn,” he nearly husked, going over to sit on a desk, legs crossed and swinging idly as he sat.

“Which it is,” Byleth added, which was something Yuri was choosing to ignore.  
  
“I ended up in Abyss because of a botched job,” he said cheerily. “I got sold out. It was an anonymous job, not unheard of, people who hire people like me don’t want to make it known. When I went to actually _do_ it , I found out they’d captured my whole crew,” he said, voice flattening; even he couldn’t tell this story without having to rein himself in.  
  
“My whole crew, Byleth. Eight boys, with knives to their throat. The leader demanded I throw down my arms and get on my knees or they were all dead.” He swallowed. “I loved them, Byleth. They were my family,” he admitted, chagrined and rueful. “So, of course, I did. I got on my knees, they jammed a bag over my head and I knew no more until I was in a cell.”  
  
He sighed, trying to gauge Byleth’s reaction, his focus a piercing, flaying slate, as if he could force the truth to appear simply by gazing intently enough. He was glad he was telling the truth, because he could tell the man would smell an outright lie.

“Aelfric was on the other side of the bars,” he continued, sighing. “He gave me an out; said I was too special to let hang. Said me and my boys could come to Abyss and he’d protect us.”  
  
He looked at his nails, tapped them against the desk. “Of course, we all said yes. We weren’t idiots. I figured maybe the Goddess was looking out for us, sending a Cardinal to save us. Figured I owed him my life for helping protect them,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Which made finding out who gave me the contract pretty surprising. Wanna guess who it was?” he asked, voice lowering dangerously, no warmth left in his bearing.  
  
Yuri stared at him with frozen intensity. No cute mannerisms, no misdirections, simply staring at him, awaiting a response.

“Aelfric,” Byleth said, deadpan and unblinking. “The motive matches.”

“Does it?” Yuri asked innocently, pleased Byleth was catching on. “What motive would he have? Why would he want a bunch of street rats in Abyss? Why would he put me in the Ashen Wolves house?” he asked rhetorically, kicking off of the desk and stepping closer, eyes never leaving Byleth’s.  
  
“It’s because of the Saints,” he hissed. “Every one of us — me, Constance, Balthus, and Hapi — has a Saint’s Crest, and we needed to be there to release the Chalice and complete the ritual,” he spat, his vitriol unmasked.  
  
“Aelfric’s been planning this con for over a decade. He’s going to kill us, and use our blood to bring someone back to life. Fun, right?” he added cheerily, nearly laughing at the manic relief of finally _telling_ someone about this lunacy. “He was gonna kill us all!” he added unnecessarily, but for his own personal catharsis.

In fact, he did laugh, three sharp ‘ha’s echoing through the classroom. “I’ve been working with Rhea to trap him before he causes real problems, and I have a plan, but… I need a patsy,” he explained, a tremulous, manic grin still on his face. “I’ll pull the wool over his face and make him regret playing me,” he said viciously. He paused, swallowing and hoping it didn’t show, and then looked into his eyes with a newfound steel. “You don’t need to tell me a secret. I just need you to tell me: are you in?”

Byleth’s eyes were refreshingly cold. There was no kindness in his gaze, no fondness; just the assessing gaze of someone making a measured judgment. It sent shivers down Yuri’s spine.  
  
Byleth was really looking at him, truly assessing him.  
  
A traitorous part of him hoped he liked what he saw.  
  
“I’ll help,” he said at length. “What do you need me to do?”  
  


The first phase had gone over perfectly. Byleth gave him the chalice, Yuri didn’t hurt him. He told him where to go the night before, so now he just had to play for time until he and the Lords appeared as backup with the Knights behind them.

It was intoxicating to finally pull off the gambit, and everything was falling into place. Even as he spoke, he knew Balthus would be able to break through the bonds he’d put him in with the cuts he’d made in the rope.

“You really thought I was just going to let this happen, didn’t you?” Yuri asked contemptuously, staring Aelfric down from across the room, within earshot of the other Wolves. “You thought I was going to not only help you get the chalice, but _let you kill me and my friends?_ You really thought no one would put the pieces together,” he derided, savoring the tight, wrathful look on Aelfric’s usually mild face.

“You can mock me as you will, Yuri, but your betrayal has come too late; you’re already here, and the ritual is underway. You will die here, pathetic insults your last words,” he hissed, clearly holding onto his calm by a fraying thread.  
  
“Oh, am I? Oh, darn, you’re right! Surely even if all the Wolves were ready to fight, we could never move past your defenses!” he cried, comically slapping his cheeks in horror.

There was a part of him that he was realizing wasn’t as small and buried as he would have liked that was worried. Things thus far had been working a little too well in Aelfric’s favor, and Yuri knew that he was in no small part responsible for it for how thorough the deception was.

Something he’d also been responsible for, no cum laude to be shared there.

Aelfric had slashed Hapi’s palm first, then Balthus’ and Constance’s, all after they’d been placed in restraints, but Yuri wasn’t sure how long he could keep stalling at this rate. The Chalice still needed his own blood after all, and they were almost out of time.  
  
And then, distantly, bells rang, echoing even in the depths of the mausoleum, Aelfric’s eyes widening at the clangour .  
  
“That’s right, Aelfric,” cheered Yuri. “Reinforcements are on their way. In fact…”

As if on cue, Byleth ran down the stairs, sword in hand with the House Lords flanking him with serious looks on their faces.  
  
“It’s over, Aelfric!” called Claude, arrow nocked. “If you want your insides to stay where they oughta be then you’d do well to surrender,” he called gravely, no hint of levity in his tone. “We know. The Knights are coming, and the jig is up. Don’t make us kill you.”  
  
He gave a truly perfect scowl, before throwing a shield up around the altar and the casket containing what he could only assume to be the target of the Chalice’s magic.

More of those strange dolls from the chasm stepped into the chambers, standing at the ready with weapons sharp and gleaming. 

That was already bad enough, but when Aelfric made a grand gesture, Yuri felt the chilling feeling of blood leaving his dominant arm and knew that even with support this was going to hurt. 

He’d had no choice but to sit quietly as his friends were hurt as he bided his time, but now it was his turn.

As the dolls approached, his and the Wolves’ blood floating in macabre display to move towards the Chalice where it sat swallowing the blood hungrily, Yuri felt a quiet dread.

All the same, he reached for his sword.  
  
This was all part of the gambit. He’d moved his pieces into play, and he knew his opponent’s capabilities.  
  
He would not die here, with Byleth and the Lords at his side.  
  
“Imagine what your target would feel like, knowing you were willing to kill the continent’s royalty for them!” he goaded. “Would they be happy about that? Or horrified that you’d murder the continent’s future?” he called as he ran through a doll, fighting towards the gleaming confluence of magic which was pulling their blood towards the chalice.

He needed that thing broken. Constance was frail and weak, barely able to cast. There was no telling when it would be too much.

“Byleth!” he roared, collapsing to his knees as he saw the man turn to him with wide eyes looking like he would run to him. He held up a hand to stop him. “You need to push to that confluence! If you step into it, you should be able to destabilize it — there isn’t much time!” he called as he grit his teeth, desperate to hold onto consciousness as his blood drained.

Byleth was poetry in motion, and even dazed by blood loss his heart sang to see him in his element.

His sword was everywhere. It separated and impaled and beheaded, a beautiful murderous ballet that opened the way for Dimitri and Edelgard to push onwards as Claude covered his flank with volley after volley.

When Dimitri shoulder-rushed into the confluence, he was surrounded by the whirling blood, staining him irreparably as he stood, staring with unblinking severity at Aelfric as the dolls slowly fell back into immobility.

Yuri couldn’t say he was surprised his blood wasn’t returned, but he was still annoyed about it. The prince looked like a truly imposing figure, holding his lance and stained with crimson.

  
It was easy to forget the soft-spoken boy was still one of the finest killers in the monastery.

Aelfric moved quickly, then, as he surely needed to. “You’re too late! Even if I can’t have all their blood, mine shall suffice to complete the ritual!” he all but howled, his dagger working furiously to run a deep gash down his palm, blood falling directly into the chalice where he knelt by it.  
  
“Sitri is… the only thing that matters!” he grunted, as yet more magic seemed to swirl around him and the coffin.  
  
The chalice was active in truth, now, their collected blood seeming to surround Aelfric and the casket, an unnatural darkness filling the room as an inhuman roar echoed through the room, light returning with a deafening crack.

Yuri gaped, and he didn’t feel bad admitting that. Before them stood an unthinkable beast. Bone-headed, its flesh was… it wasn’t. It was a horrific patchwork of veins, exposed bones, and unthinkable darkness.

  
Its bestial roar made clear there was no point in hoping for answers. Whatever was left of Aelfric, it had lost itself completely. 

The dread at the base of his spine chilled him completely. This was no simple beast, it was a monster made of darkness and forbidden magic, corrupted by whatever Aelfric had done with his blood and his spurred modifications to the ritual.

When Claude shot it in the eye to no noticeable effect and Dimitri batted away to no effect when he attempted to claim its attention, Yuri started to worry very sincerely about how they were going to survive this.

Yuri hadn’t counted on a dark dragon being spawned by forbidden magic in his plans, but he didn’t feel he deserved to be judged for that.

That still left the question of _how_ they were going to deal with it. After batting Dimitri away, whenever someone came close, it performed some bizarre magic that forcibly transported them all far away from each other.

It was only Edelgard and her massive fortress knight's shield that stopped him from being smashed into a pillar, likely to his death.

  
Between watching Byleth run fast enough each time to render him dizzy and the blood loss, Yuri’s head was aching, and trying to find an answer was becoming much more taxing and demanding all at once.

So great was his concentration that it took him much longer than it should have to realize that Archbishop Rhea herself had walked up to stand beside him, a truly terrifying look upon her face.  
  
She looked just as bestial as the monster before them as she stepped forward, arms moving in arcane gestures until a once-in-a-lifetime spell was cast before him.

_Abraxas_. 

The most powerful holy spell in existence, one he’d only heard of in story books and advanced theory texts, a spell perhaps one in a hundred faith mages even had the _potential_ to learn.

The goddess’s holy fire.  
  
It was awe-inspiring, in a thought that Yuri found particularly ineloquent. Holy fire rained from the sky itself, staining the beast’s flesh, sunlight making flames blossom over it and seeming to consume it, bones and all in the blinding holy sunlight of the spell.

Rhea continued to cast, vicious scowl on her face. She called, in some strange language that boomed through the chambers as little more than gibberish to him. Probably part of the cast for the spell, Yuri assumed.

The way Byleth’s eyes widened, lips mouthing the word ‘daughter,’ suggested it wasn’t gibberish though, even if he was still too low on blood and good sense to figure out what that implied.

The creature’s death was unnaturally silent. It simply stood, staring at Rhea, making no movements and no attempts to free itself from its fiery demise.

Did it want to die, he wondered.

No one could do anything but watch the beast’s final moments, its body collapsing in on itself as it was slowly swallowed by holy fire, white and pure, the seeming antithesis to the unfortunate beast.

It was not long before there was nothing else and all that remained was Rhea, face a stern mask as she walked to where the beast had stood, now nothing but a small pile of ash.

She knelt before it, fingers falling to touch the ashes gently.

From where Yuri knelt, he couldn’t see what was happening on Rhea’s face, but he could see what was happening on Byleth’s.

He was pained. He was staring down at the Archbishop, gripping his sword tightly, his jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed.

He knew Byleth and Rhea had history, but he had to admit he had no idea what it was. He watched them with observant, unobtrusive eyes, eager to learn.

Rhea stood after a time, turning to look him in the eye, and gently, shakily, she raised her hands towards him, before letting them fall once more.  
  
“I apologize, Byleth. You likely do not wish comfort from the likes of me,” she began softly. She turned to look at the ashes once more.  
  
“I raised your mother as if she was a daughter to me,” she admitted softly, pain across her face. “She was one of my beloved children, as was Aelfric.”

There was a long silence then, a hollow in the world where there would have once been something, someone. A vigil for those long lost.

“I… had no knowledge of Aelfric’s plan in full until just recently,” she said as she looked back down at the ashes, face unseen from Yuri’s angle, but if Byleth’s was any indication, she was mourning.  
  
“I still remember when you were both to be born. She was too weak,” she said, the words forced out of her throat. “She was sure to die — I had told her as much — but when it was clear it was twins, it was made all the clearer.”  
  
Byleth stepped closer despite himself, eyes wide, mouth parted, one hand trapped in a half-reaching gesture.  
  
“When you were both born, neither of you had heartbeats,” she stated, voice flat. “Stillborn.”

The word, for how quiet it was, still seemed to ring out in that space, a dead word to echo there among the dead things.  
  
“She begged me, with the last of her strength, to give you life no matter the cost,” she said, tone dead. “So, I did what she asked. Her heart was sacrificed to become parts of yours.”  
  
She turned to look at him then. “Sitri loved you both more than life itself,” she said, a tear streaming down her face. “I didn’t want to. I wanted her to stay. But it was Sitri’s choice to make, and now you are here, for good or ill.”

“We… magics were used to preserve her, secret magics. I hid her away in the depths of Abyss, trusting none would ever find her. I did not count on Aelfric finding her, never mind…” She gestured vaguely at the ashes, and at the collected Wolves. “All this.”

She began to walk then, up the stairs to the open casket and the chalice, sitting so innocently on the floor.  
  
“I am taking this,” she said with gentle authority, revealing the chalice in her hand. “Catherine will be here soon. Please wait and tell her your debriefing before leaving. A medic will be present,” she continued as she turned to look at Byleth once more.  
  
“Though if the Professor would prefer to debrief with me personally, that is also acceptable,” she said in what he sensed was some kind of olive branch.  
  
They really had some kind of history, didn’t they?  
  
Well, if his mother had been raised by her, of course they did. The grandmother he never had, which was something interesting in and of itself. It begged another question. Or several.

Rhea left, with no further incident, and Byleth watched her go wordlessly.

The rest happened much like Rhea said it would. Catherine ran in with a bunch of Knights, started grilling them all and carefully bagging up the remains of Aelfric and Sitri while a medic came along and gave them some vulneraries to gulp down. He’d never been fond of the taste of them, but the groundswell of energy that was his body producing more badly-needed blood was not unwelcome.

They gravitated towards Byleth and the absolutely blood-soaked Dimitri, holding his lance as if it were a broom in his discomfort.

Edelgard sat down next to Constance, the two of them speaking in hushed tones that had him fighting the urge to sneak over and listen. The young empress had been curious throughout their time together. Moody and erratic, seeming to despise Byleth, yet loyal enough to stay regardless, keeping track of tunnels and gates down in Abyss…

He didn’t know what Edelgard’s plan was, but it was a complicated one, and likely dangerous. He’d have to keep an eye on her.

It wasn’t long before the Knights were beginning to shoo everyone out of the Mausoleum so they could cordon off the scene. And by happy accident, Yuri and Byleth were the last ones out. The others had all spoken their pieces in their various debriefs with the Knights, and there was little more for them all to say than “Goodbye, I am going to get a meal and a nap,” which was a valid sentiment. Vulneraries or no, he was uncommonly tired.

Byleth and Yuri walked through the cathedral, populated but not bustling. To the rest of the monastery, today was just another day.  
  
And yet here was Yuri, walking in the sunlight as a free man, revenge complete, Wolves safe.

Every day was someone’s day, he supposed, and today was his. Especially when Yuri stumbled on an uneven tile and Byleth caught him by the elbow, pulling him back so that they were side by side.

Their eyes met as he looked at him, something unspoken sparking between them.

“...Thanks,” he managed, the simple word making a hot flush burn across his cheeks like some schoolboy.

  
“It was nothing. Be gentle with yourself, you withstood a grave injury,” he said softly, the hint of a crease in his brow.

Yuri let out a single breath of a laugh. “That’s no secret, Professor. You’ll have to try harder.”

There was that furrow again. “What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that one for you,” Yuri replied. “It’s not my turn.”

“Is this really all just a game to you?” Byleth asked more forcefully than any time Yuri had ever heard him be outside of combat. It wasn’t too far off from his normal tone, save for a slight increase in volume and the hint of steel. “You took a dangerous gamble, and it could have gotten you killed.”

“Heh,” Yuri laughed, the noise coming out of his throat like a bitter thing. “I’ve made far riskier bets for less.”

“That’s not better.”

“It’s not,” he agreed, running a shaky hand through his own hair, ratty and caked in dried blood and sweat as it was. He was weary, wearier than he had been in a long time, and he recalled those nights in his childhood where he’d shivered from worse than the cold and his body had been wracked with fever.

He must have looked quite the sight. He knew Byleth was fastidious about caring for his appearance, and the thought of being able to acknowledge him while clean would have done wonders for him.

He was no urchin. Not anymore.

He reached for Byleth’s elbow, pulling at him authoritatively until they were in a quiet corner of the cathedral, one he knew almost no one used.

Byleth let out a breath, letting his shoulders sag, and whatever hint of anger deserved or otherwise had been present in his face dissipated with it. He met Yuri’s eyes in the half-dark of the hidden corner of the cathedral, concern tingeing his gaze therein, and when he opened his mouth, it was with a smaller, but no less worried voice. “Then why?”

“It was worth it,” Yuri replied, finding it hard to hide his honesty behind the masks he so often employed and choosing instead to look away. All he would find there would be genuine concern laid bare, and he didn’t know how well his façade would hold up under it. “And I liked my odds.”

It left him bare in a way he had never experienced, didn’t even have a word for.

“Yuri,” Byleth said in a way that he knew meant to draw his gaze, and Yuri only complied when he said it again, voice smooth and insistent.

He had been right, but then he’d made a living off being so. His impeccable observations and drive to capitalize on them had meant the difference between life and death for him on more than one occasion. Anything in the world could be predicted for the most part, very little left to surprise. So he shouldn’t be.

And yet there he was, going against his better instinct and meeting blue.

“I would have come regardless,” Byleth said, and Yuri knew it to be true as soon as he said it. This was a man who couldn’t lie, not believeably, one who could be counted on to do what was right, what was upstanding, when it all came down to it. He’d ruined better men for less — or at least he would have had there been any. No one was _that_ genuine.

None except for Byleth.

“I know,” Yuri said gently as he turned to leave after everyone else.

“You don’t have to burn yourself up just to keep everyone else warm.”

It stopped Yuri in his tracks, stayed his hand from the door. He could turn around, tell Byleth that he wasn’t sure what he meant, that he presumed too much, but part of him knew that if the man had seen through him, so deeply that he would see it was be an obvious deflection.

He had to fight for the Wolves. He had to fight for his Boys, in the only way he knew how. If he didn't, who was he? He was the Leader, he was the smart one. What good was he if he didn't do all he could for their sake?  
  
It was a cold realization that such was exactly Byleth meant.

If he objected, it would only prove him right.

He turned around to meet Byleth’s eyes, shaking his head as he said, “I never was.”

“Yuri,” Byleth started as he crossed the room. He stopped when he got close enough that anyone with less tact would have accused him of invading their personal space. And then he took his hand, looking him not only in the eyes, but Yuri suspected deeper. When he spoke again, it was with a soft, firm voice. “You’re worth more than what you have to give. Let someone else help you for once.”

What he was asking Yuri to do he couldn’t have known. He didn’t know what he was asking him to confess, and even he wasn’t sure himself if he even wanted to. Giving those thoughts, those feelings, a voice — or, even worse, a _name_ — would mean acknowledging them, and Yuri wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do that.

“Let me help you,” Byleth said, all but an echo as he closed the space between them And Yuri felt himself falling.

The kiss was everything it should have been: almost gentle, and yet not quite chaste, but most importantly _there_ and _actually happening_ , something that had Yuri been more himself might not have been this way at all.

If he’d had his way, he would have been much more debonair about it, make him beg and then leave him breathless in the night, never to be seen again. It wouldn’t be unheard of for him. Hell, he’d done more and had worse partings, and always on his own terms.

He was always the one to leave.

He would have left.

But here he was, still here, in a deepening kiss and both sure and not of what he wanted. Though Byleth was making a very convincing argument even without words.

Somewhere in his haze, he became aware of the familiar tingle of healing magic moving up his arm along the laceration Aelfric had given him. While the feeling was replaced by a soothing one, it nevertheless occasionally stung, and Yuri found himself hissing into Byleth’s mouth more than once but each time found them drowned. Byleth swallowed his pain in hungry gulps, licking and tasting him, leaving no trace behind in his ministrations.

Yuri had felt the touch of many a healer, but not all of them had gentle touches. Some had magic that felt like suture pulling skin and sinew back together, rarer talents had a skill that made his head swim and left his eyelids drooping as he fought to stay awake lest he dragged somewhere new with ropes cutting into his wrists. Or worse.

But Byleth’s was more gentle, the small shocks keeping his mind all there — even if... _other_ elements seemed to have him hanging by threads.

He ought to return the favor, he realized suddenly.

One hand free meant he had quite a bit of freedom to, especially with the way Byleth was holding him, firmly but gently.

He kissed him with vigor, and yet he refused to press their bodies together, and Yuri was not satisfied with whatever backwards concept of chivalric chastity he was upholding.

“Byleth…” he hummed softly in his ear. “Why are you standing all the way over there? You’ve already claimed my lips, I think you can get away with more,” he breathed, a dry and thirsty hunger evident in his tone.

He stood still, awkwardly so. His magic stuttered, his face seeming to shutter as he tried to formulate a response. “...I need to be respectful,” he finally managed, looking away with pursed lips.

It seemed he’d have to work to loosen him up, then, he thought with a certain amount of glee.

“You’ve shown me plenty of respect, Professor,” he teased gently as he slid up purposefully against Byleth’s strong chest and felt the way his breath hitched therein.

This was going to be fun.

“A proper gentleman would help the person whose blood they’ve roused with their needs…” he practically purred, finger idly stroking the lobe of his ear, forcing a shiver from the stoic man. “That goes both ways, of course,” he said with a wink before claiming his lips again, wriggling deeper into Byleth’s arms as he pulled them deeper into the corner, where Byleth’s eyes seemed to practically gleam in the half-dark.

“I…” Byleth attempted, mouth clearly dry after their kiss, lip swollen from love bites.

“Yes..?” coaxed Yuri gently, stroking his clean, smooth face. He really did care for his appearance.

“I… don’t know what to do about these feelings,” he said, hands seeming to shake as he kept his upper body far away from Yuri’s.

  
“What feelings, Byleth?” Yuri asked innocently. And for once, he just wanted to know, to understand.

“It’s… difficult to explain,” he admitted, agonized. “I want… more than I should ask for.”  
  
Yuri blinked, a slow, delighted smile sliding onto his face. “That hardly seems like a problem to me. Why don’t you take what you like, and I’ll say if we need to stop?” he asked, pulling his arm free from Byleth’s aborted healing and placing both his hands on his pretty cheeks.  
  
“N—no. You are not a _thing_ for me to spend my urges on, you’re Yuri,” he said firmly, his face hardening as he turned away, Yuri’s hands falling to Byleth’s chest. “I can’t… you’re too important for me to let you think that’s all I want from you,” he said through grit teeth, hands forming into fists where they sat around his waist.

Slowly, Yuri fell forward, face resting in the crook of Byleth’s neck, arms wrapped around Byleth’s back, stroking it gently. “What do you want me to think?” he asked, voice suddenly small, staring past Byleth to a distant piece of masonry, unable to look at his face anymore, his chest pounding with anticipation.

What did Yuri want Byleth to say? He already knew what he was going to say, it was obvious, but in so personal a matter, but knowing who he was and what he was like, he couldn’t possibly entertain the thought as a valid possibility.  
  
He would just learn what Yuri was like and leave, as he should. It’s what Yuri would do.

Only a fool would stay with someone like him, after all. He was a passing fancy for a good man who saw someone who he thought needed help.  
  


He leaned into his neck, breathing in. Despite himself, the only way he knew to describe the scent he found was _right._ Sweet, subtly floral, like the products Byleth used, but with an underpinning of desire, an almost tangible smell, texture, _taste…_ _  
_ _  
_ “That maybe… maybe someday, we could—”

  
Suddenly, Yuri bit at the crook of his neck in ill temper, forcing an unrestrained gasp from his foolish suitor.

“Stop it,” Yuri demanded, eyes locking on Byleth’s. They were wide, suddenly blown terribly wide. “I know what this is, and I’m not some child. I can make my own decisions,” he said firmly, leaning forward to steal his lips and pull him so that he was leaning forward to kiss him, nibbling purposefully at his puting lip.  
  
“And what I want is you,” he husked, savoring the look of him like this, shaky, hand to his neck where he’d been bitten, mouth parted, eyes sharpening as what he’d said sank in.

Until they turned to slits, sending a torrent of new, exciting emotions rushing through him.

  
With hardly a sound, Byleth took his hands, slamming them up onto the wall int one of his as he leaned into Yuri completely, touching at every point they could as he took his time getting Yuri’s blood up, simply breathing him in, nose against the crook of his neck, Byleth sighing in hungry delight at whatever he found.  
  
“Gods, Yuri, you smell so _good,_ ” he murmured in what was perhaps the most honest thing he’d ever heard him say.

Yuri only groaned in response as Byleth’s tongue darted out, leaving soft, hungry kisses against his neck.  
  
The longer he spent there, breathing him in, pulling him close enough that he could feel the effect his body was having on Byleth, the more he wondered deliriously what he’d gotten into.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispered, low and dangerous.  
  
Then, he bit him, hard, making Yuri choke on a gasp that collapsed into a ragged moan. As if Byleth had hit some sort of pressure point, he felt his body nearly go limp, all of his tension seeming to be released with the harsh bite, only barely gentle enough not to break the skin. He felt like a puppet with his strings cut.  
  
Byleth’s hips pressed hungrily against his as Byleth laboriously licked at what was surely going to be a beautiful hickey in a few hours.  
  
He whispered something then in what sounded vaguely like the language as Rhea had spoken as he licked him, over and over again the same word.  
  
Yuri said nothing, simply sliding his hands out of Byleth’s grip where they had been staying, letting them fall onto Byleth’s shoulders, scrabbling lightly, savoring the feel of him.  
  
“Byleth…” he murmured, tone love-drunk. “What do you _want_ from me?”

It was a question that perhaps he wouldn’t have asked if he had been in his right mind, the words falling out of his mouth almost carelessly. It wasn’t a question one asked when they were expecting anything good of the answer, but perhaps that was why he’d asked it. Better to have the ugly voiced now than after his soul was laid bare, to instead have Byleth bare his own selfish wants and allow Yuri to break it off sooner.

But he hadn’t been prepared for that one simple word: “You.”

It almost broke him, his eyes going round as he stared into Byleth’s unnatural, slit eyes.  
  
“I want you. I want you to be safe. And happy. I don’t want you to think you’re some cheap fuck,” he all but hissed, the fire all but flicking out of his mouth as he pulled himself close until he was whispering in Yuri’s ear. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realize you deserve happiness.”

Yuri was as dazed as Byleth, the both of them staring into each other’s eyes, unsure if it was more satisfying to stare at one another or kiss again, holding each other in the private of their little nook, the rest of the world having fallen away.  
  
Byleth looked at him with those unnatural, slit eyes, full of such mystery he wanted to unravel. Who was Byleth, really? Why did he care? What did he want?  
  
What were his secrets? He’d never wanted to know something just to know like this… to never share them or use them, but keep them safe in his chest.  
  
Yuri could only sigh and submit to the beautiful intensity in Byleth’s eyes, all for him. 

All for him.

“You’re too sweet for me, Byleth…” he murmured sadly. “I’d only hurt you.”  
  
Byleth pulled his hair tightly, making him gasp and lift his head to meet his eyes, so sharp, once more. “I can take it,” he said, voice low and throaty. “Don’t run from me. Whatever you’ve got to give, I can take it,” he said, diving in for another kiss, filled with teeth and hunger and raw _want._

Yuri broke the kiss gently, looking back up at him. “Can I take _you,_ Byleth?” he asked softly, voice weak. “You have secrets. I want to know them. Will you hoard them away, keep me at arm’s length? You say you want me, but do you know what that will cost you?” he asked, arms gently pressing against his chest until they had a bit more room to breathe and talk.

“I’m not some free lay, you said it yourself. If you want me, you’ll have to tell me who you are. Whatever you and Rhea are, and don’t play the idiot, you know I won’t stand for it,” he said firmly, pulling himself out of his pleasant daze to focus on the present. “If you want to see me as I am, help me with whatever you see, you need to understand I’ll want that reciprocated, just like any other agreement. Quid pro quo, Byleth.”

Byleth was silent for a long time. His pupils returned to normal, and he could sense the nervous tension that kept him going gradually siphoning off.

  
“So?” he asked gently, but not too gently. “It’s your turn, Byleth. Got a secret for me?” he asked saucily, trying to lighten the mood for how much he was asking.

Byleth’s face seemed to crumble, and with it something cold fell down through Yuri’s chest, freezing him from the inside.  
  
“It is… I don’t know what I am,” he whispered, hands slowly falling onto Yuri’s shoulders. “Rhea knows more than I do. If you want the answer, I give you permission to ask her, and permission to tell her she can tell you when she deems it the right time.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not even daring to bring himself closer as he had been before. “I can’t offer more. Not yet. It’s too much,” he sighed, the weight of the words weighing visibly on his shoulders.  
  
He looked up at him, the picture of guilt and regret. “Please understand,” he urged, in a too-small voice. 

Yuri looked at him, unblinking. He wanted to sigh and make his displeasure known, but it wouldn’t be productive here. He knew it was the truth, knew that whatever secret Rhea had been hiding and whatever part Byleth had in it was the kind of secret that changed the world.

Slowly, Yuri disentangled himself, pulling back so that they stood at a respectable distance, close but not too close.

Yuri brought himself back to meet Byleth’s eyes. “Okay. I’m not happy about it, but I’ll accept it. It works out anyway,” he said with an artful flourish of his hand. “Without Aelfric paying me, I need a new employer, and why not Rhea? I can get to work grinding her down for you.”  
  
“So… you’re leaving?” Byleth asked, voice flat, but a trained ear could hear his dismay clearly.  
  
“Not forever,” he clarified. “Mission-work. I’ll come back, keep an eye on Abyss, make sure you don’t get your fool self killed finding some other holy relic or other, or whatever it is you do on weekdays.”  
  
He meant it to come across as light-hearted, but for the day — or _days_ they’d had, he knew it’d ring hollow . “I’ll be around. And I _will_ find out your secret, Byleth, and then you’ll be mine,” he swore softly, a gentle smile on his face at the admission. 

He was delighted, then, to see Byleth’s face slowly flush as he broke the eye contact.

Oh, Goddess, he was bright red, how adorable!

“I...I will wait patiently, then,” said Byleth, voice firm despite his burning blush.

“Good,” Yuri confirmed warmly, stepping forward to wrap Byleth in a gentle hug. “Now, stay safe and take care of your children. I’ll debrief Rhea properly and give her your message,” he promised, letting him go.

Byleth nodded. “Okay.”

They stood awkwardly for a time, neither wanting to be the one to disengage completely. Finally, it was Yuri who caved. “Every time I’m back in Garreg Mach, I’ll see you, okay?” he promised, voice small.  
  
Byleth could only nod once more. “Okay,” he murmured softly, looking at him with an unreadable look in his eyes.  
  
With a final blink-and-you’d-miss it peck on the cheek, Yuri was off with a backwards wave before scratching at his still-filthy hair. He needed to hit the sauna before he did anything else, he felt a mess.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be a bit more reasonable. He’d had enough excitement, for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	23. Go Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth has a pleasant day, and enjoys some very fresh fish.

Seteth’s life was settling in to a new normal . 

He woke next to Flayn, in a cot brought in just for his sake, and looked down at her, resting in peaceful slumber and continued to worry even as he knew her condition was improving.

  
Her coloring was warmer, her breathing steady. He had examined her thoroughly, and she bore no scars from her captivity, for which he was deliriously thankful. All the same, to see his beautiful child claimed by a Long Sleep once more was painful for him. Her last one had been so, so long. He prayed she would return to him soon, and with it one of the few lights in his life.

Manuela had been better after a night’s rest,  a healing spell , and a vulnerary, and her immediate concern for the students was a credit to her, making him proud of his decision to take her on as the Monastery’s head of medicine. Her professionalism and care in watching over Flayn and the other student, Monica, was a weight off his mind. He may have been Flayn’s nurse, so to speak, but he was no medical specialist, and so he was thankful for her steady presence.

It had been a relatively simple matter to induct Monica into the Black Eagle House once she had awakened and passed Manuela’s tests, being an Adrestian national. Hopefully she fit in well, despite both her age  — her former classmates long since graduated, leaving her behind — and the unusual circumstances of her return. He didn’t really have the time to look into her as of yet, despite his lingering discomfort at her unexpected presence.

He would have some awkward letters to send reinstating her formally, and notifying her parents of her reappearance.  They would want to know their daughter was safe. However, he was not enthused to get through all of that at his small desk that had also been brought into Flayn’s room. His actual study wouldn’t be much better, but now he was just complaining to complain.  Even if there was little to be done for himself as a fretting father, he could at least ease another’s .

He sighed, staring down at his stack of papers he refused to let molder. Yes, Flayn was unconscious, but Rhea was working just as hard as ever despite what he knew was a deep fear and worry living in her heart. Hopefully the two of them could spend some time scenting sometime soon; the both of them could sorely use a moment to themselves, even if Flayn would not be there to join them.

And there was still the matter of the twins. The twins, to whom he owed Flayn’s life, who were so innocent of their own selves and in need of guidance. His heart twisted to think of them being forced to navigate their instincts through the filters of human nobility’s societal norms.  He could only imagine how alienated they felt, being forced to dance to an unfamiliar tune while hearing two others in either ear and fearing even a single misstep .

He was fond of humans, but part of the reason he could withstand them was because he still had Rhea and Flayn to keep him sane and in-touch with his  own customs , so he didn’t go hissing at every rude dignitary demanding to speak with Rhea.

No, a caustic tongue was far better. At least they acted offended for the correct reasons .

Rhea, too, had found her own ways to cope. Her human ‘pack,’ the children she adopted under the church’s banner was a strange, beautiful thing he had to admit. She loved those children with all her heart, be it Thunder Catherine, young Cyril, or any of her past children, like Aelfric. It was an instinct that was particularly strong with her, to protect and cherish who her heart assigned to be her children.

Frankly, that was the only reason he’d allowed Catherine to use the relic that was her namesake; because should Catherine fall, Rhea would be crushed.

But he worried for Byleth, especially. He seemed fearful of his nature  at best , in denial of it. He supposed he couldn’t blame him for that, having thought he was human his whole life, but the fact of the matter was that there was no stopping the changes that were overtaking him and the more he fought them, the worse the pain would become.  And he was a smart young man; it was likely something he knew already, and that would be pitch in an already roaring fire .

He couldn’t imagine, thinking he was human only to be told he was an immortal dragon.

...Oh, but he didn’t know about the dragons yet.  _ Neither  _ of them did.   
  
Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a calming breath. In due time. He would guide them. He would help Byleth, no matter how he struggled against them. Flayn’s life was worth a thousand times more than such a paltry recompense.

They deserved to be loved and cared for by them. Their pack needed to grow, not just for the sake of the children, but for their sake as a family. There weren’t enough manaketes  left , and though the three of them had worked incredibly hard to cope, even with all of their efforts it wasn’t enough to fill the void left by Red Zanado.

He needed to talk to Rhea about initiating them into the Pack, making it all official. He refused to allow them to fall to the wayside as sad half-ketes,  othered  by humans and manaketes alike. Such a thought was abhorrent to him.

He would give them a home, a family, and everything they needed to blossom and flourish.

Even without  what they’d done for his daughter, for him , they deserved it. He would never have dreamed Sitri’s blood was strong enough to spawn what, by all accounts, were nearly-full blooded manaketes, but the fact was she had, and it was their responsibility, as the last living kin who lived in a community together, to offer them a place where they truly belonged, because there  _ were _ no other places for them to.

So this one at least had to be able to welcome them with open arms.

He sighed,  something that was rapidly replacing speech for him . 

All these thoughts, and he still had to sign papers authorizing the release of funds to keep up the offensive on the Western Church. Distantly, he hoped Jeralt was keeping himself safe. He had no idea how the children would react if he were to die suddenly in such a pointless way.

His report was promising, though, as was common with Jeralt. Whatever his opinion on the man, he was undeniably the best commander the Knights had had in centuries. It was good to have him back in the fold.

He pressed his seal on the page. At least he knew his quartermaster knew how to actually do the necessary paperwork, so he didn’t have to send scathing reminders to document the spending so he could approve it. He’d been slogging through bureaucracy for millennia and he still hated it. He thought anyone would. The kind of person who enjoyed this type of work had to be unstable in some way.

...That didn’t mean he wasn’t damn good at it, though. It took him a bit over an hour to get through a solid six inches of forms, which was good time for him. He couldn’t afford to let it pile up, even now.

This was part of his duty, to make sure that all those who swore themselves to Rhea were safe. Such people were not pack, but he would do what he could nonetheless. He’d not have any soldiers go hungry, or their spouses untended to on the homefront.

He had never been thrust into the limelight as Rhea had, and for that he was thankful, but there was no question that he was just as vital a piece in the machine as her. They worked closely on almost everything to do with the Church, and Rhea valued his opinion highly. Just as they valued Flayn. Despite her diminutive status, she was still Pack, their beloved Flayn with the shining heart, the soul that reminded them of why they did any of this at all instead of fading from history entirely.

Their Little Light. He smiled softly despite himself, overcome with love for his precious, darling daughter.

He’d do anything for her.

He sighed  for the umpteenth time , preparing to walk back to his own office to file the paperwork into the slot Rhea’s secretary knew to find it in. He gave one more lingering look at Flayn in her bed, heart weighing heavily before he walked off, stack of loose papers held tightly in his hands.

He knew she would return, he thought as he walked from one building to the next, but goddess help him… it had only been days and he already missed her like nothing else. Maybe he’d see Rhea for that scenting sooner than later.  He was on edge. But she seemed preoccupied with… something as of late. He wasn’t sure .

Perhaps some fresh air would do him well. He’d been sequestered indoors, in the infirmary, for longer than any person not in need of a cot and bedside manner should have been, and that would take a toll on anyone, millennia-spanning memory or no. It wouldn’t be the same as relaxing and breathing in the scent of another, but the mountain wind carried with it the reminder of something more, something beyond. Something to carry his mind out and away.

He could only dwell on worry so long before going mad, and that was a dangerous thing to carry with him. Especially when time would purge someone lesser .

His feet carried him upward, and he ascended the spiralling stone stairs beyond where all but Rhea’s trusted few were allowed to tread. He emerged onto the balcony that housed their private garden and took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill with the scents of each individual bloom whose names Seteth could fire off without so much as glancing at them.

He closed his eyes and took another breath, then another, and another, and with each inhale he found himself loosening up, the tension leaving his body gradually as he recalled his place in the world. Here, the air was crisp, the subtle chill heralding the arrival of autumn, and soon the mountainside would be awash in vivid color before the falling of the leaves made way for boughs of snow and long nights, keeping the world quiet until it woke back up .

He’d seen it thousands of times, and yet he enjoyed watching the passing each time, even as his family grew smaller the more he saw it.

Cethleann would wake again, he knew, as surely as spring followed winter, as sun followed the night. He would simply need to be patient.

He could do it, if only for her.

He reopened his eyes and looked out over the stone lip of the railing, watching as the denizens of Garreg Mach went about their daily lives: the students studying in the gardens, the knights patrolling along their routes, the clergy reciting prayers and mantras in solace.

It was something he had helped build and, should he be so bold, something he was proud of. They had lost Zanado, but they had built something new out of the wreckage brick by brick .

He turned his eyes to the market then, past the stalls where merchants from near and far peddled their wares and outfit the monastery towards the fishing pond where he spotted a familiar mop of teal sitting on the edge of the small pier.

Seteth could tell even at this distance that Byleth was not alone, no, he had one of his students with him, but all the same he was curious. At one point in time, he could have easily flown down to sate his interest, but he wouldn’t.

So, instead, he would walk as everyone else .

It wasn’t a short walk by his standards, but it was a familiar one, one that he had taken more times than he could be bothered to count.

But as he approached, he stopped and listened.

“I just don’t know why he wouldn’t talk to me,” the student — one Seteth recognized as Annette — said to Byleth as the two of them sat together with their feet dangling over the water, a fishing pole in the young man’s hand. He couldn’t see Annette’s face, but Seteth knew that the slouch and sag in her shoulders meant she was troubled, her words aside.

Byleth gave one small, “Hm,” in return that Seteth would have thought lacked tact, but Annette seemed to take it as a sign to continue .

“I wrote him so many letters, you know? Every holiday, every time I did well at school in Fhirdiad, every time I felt sad and alone…” Annette said, her voice trailing off. “And he never wrote back. Not once.” She sighed. “I just wanted my father back in my life, and then when I finally found him, he wouldn’t even look at me.”

A silence settled there as thoughts were mulled over before she spoke again. “I just wanted us to all be a family again,” Annette said, her voice small as she brought the heel of her palm up to her eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”

The bobber at the end of Byleth’s line dipped under the surface of the water just enough that any fisherman worth his salt would have recognized as a bite, but his attention wasn’t on it, though Seteth suspected it probably never was.

He abandoned the pole, setting the rod in one of the gaps in the wood, and reached out as if to put a hand on her shoulder, but hesitated and instead placed it gently over her hand, drawing her eyes.

“It’s not you,” Byleth said, his voice gentle. “It’s not your fault.”

Annette opened her mouth to perhaps protest, but Byleth is quicker. “It’s not your fault,” he repeated. “You did everything right, and I think that’s why he’s not saying anything. He believes he’s done something  wrong. He doesn’t know how to face you, beneath his shame,” he said in soft, reassuring tones. He had to give the boy credit; when he cared, he had a great charisma.

“But—but I don’t  _ care _ about any of that!” the girl cried, despairing. “Why won’t he talk to me? Aren’t I allowed to just… to h-have a…” she broke into sniffles then, tears fat as pearls running down her round cheeks.

Byleth pulled her close then, not daring to scent as Seteth knew he must surely feel a burning urge to do so when seeing one of his pack in pain.

“Annette…” he murmured softly in gentle tones, holding her firmly to his chest. “I know this hurts to hear. I can’t claim to know much of anything about your father, but if he refuses to speak to you, after all your efforts and how beautifully you’ve blossomed, I can only assume it’s a problem on his part.”

The girl seemed to shiver at that, shaking apart and crumbling into herself, right there on the dock. He stroked her back softly, his own eyes downcast and pained. “Sometimes, there are problems that aren’t yours to fix, as much as you’d want to.”

The girl looked down into the water at that, nodding sadly.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and let him work through it. I’m sure he’ll come around in time,” Byleth said then, releasing her from the embrace. “But know that you have a family in the rest of the Lions. Okay?”

She sniffed and nodded, chancing a small smile. “I know. Thank you, Professor.”

He gave her an awkward pat on the back, and a shaky smile. “I understand Mercedes is in the kitchens with Lysithea baking. You should go and get a sweet or two before Lysithea gobbles them up. I’m told she’s got a sweet tooth to rival yours,” he said kindly.   
  
Annette nodded, giving a watery smile before standing up to go follow through on his suggestion.

After a few moments had passed and Annette had disappeared into the kitchens, Seteth braced himself. Byleth was back to looking at the water, pulling his bobber back up, frowning to see his bait was stolen. He sighed and reached down to his little cup of worms, carefully placing his next bait on the hook.

Trying to be as casual as someone like him could manage, he walked over to the barrel of rods, picking one at random. He stood at the edge of the dock, and coughed politely.

Slowly, Byleth’s head turned and their eyes met. “ Greetings, Professor ,” Seteth said diplomatically. “Is there room for two on the dock?”

His chest hurt to see the way his mask slid onto his face, devouring the small glimmer of light that he saw in him when he had spoken to his student. “I don’t see why not. It’s a big dock,” he said neutrally before taking a moment to cast.   
  
“Thank you,” Seteth managed, almost shyly. He walked quietly, careful not to let the dock creak overmuch as he made his way next to him, the both of them sitting at the edge of the dock and staring into the placid waters.

It had been a long, long time since Seteth had gone fishing, but then he cast his line , and the two of them sat in silence, watching their bobbers.

Seteth noticed the way Byleth’s eyes would flicker over at him occasionally, searching for something and not finding what he was looking for. A nervous habit, he supposed, but one that someone in unfamiliar waters would develop. The man didn’t know what to make of him.

“I used to fish quite often in my youth,” Seteth began, opting to test those waters. “Mostly to feed my family, but I found the quiet did wonders for relaxation, and it gave me the peace to organize my thoughts.” He chuckled. “I never did catch much on days like those, though.”

  
“You might have more luck if you baited your hook,” Byleth said .

Seteth looked at his line, as if it would reveal the truth of his statement. “...Ah,” he said simply. “How foolish of me. It has been a long time since I have fished alone… My wife would bait the hooks.”

“You were married?” Byleth asked, coming across as more incredulous than Seteth imagined he’d intended. He wouldn’t pretend he didn’t feel a bit stung .

But then, it wasn’t like he made it known that he was a widower. The number of people who had any idea Seteth was anything other than a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor could be counted on one hand.

And aside from him, there was only one person who knew about Flayn’s parentage.

He tried to laugh, but it just sounded tired. “Happily, once,” he said, letting his bobber hang, bait-less. “It was a long, long time ago, now.”   
  
There was a long silence as they both sat on the dock, appreciating the glimmer of sunlight on the ripples of the water. “...I’m sorry,” Byleth said in the tone he used for most things.   
  
“As I said, it was a long time ago. Thank you, but there is no need,” Seteth answered, his defenses restored. They sat in silence for a moment more before Seteth broke it once more.  “So why do you fish, Professor?”

“To eat,” Byleth replied simply.

Seteth quirked an eyebrow. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a bit past lunch time. Did you not eat?”

“Yes…”

“And you’re still hungry?” Seteth said, more an observation than a question.

Byleth was quiet for a moment before replying this time. “...Yes. The kitchen staff started giving me odd looks after my fourth plate.”

“Ah, so now you’re fishing,” Seteth said, nodding as if having solved one of life’s great mysteries. Then he smirked a bit. “No wonder you were so disturbed by my lack of bait.”

This made Byleth look away, caught red-handed — or perhaps a bit red-faced for the bit of flushing on his face that a less observant eye would have missed. “Yes,” he said, repeating his favorite word somewhat sheepishly.

The chuckle in Seteth’s throat died down, but his smile remained. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Byleth. We all go through it,” he said. “You and Flayn share a penchant for fish in particular, though.”

“We do?”

“You do,” Seteth echoed in affirmation. “Though she prefers to eat hers raw.”

Byleth looked as though he hadn’t previously considered the notion, and Seteth knew it wasn’t without its allure. Fish were pungent, and that flooded the senses, something that any being that prized its sense of smell would find enjoyable. And they were no different.

“Won’t that make her ill?” Byleth asked.

“Surely not,” Seteth replied. “Our kind benefits from eating things raw, as meat loses most of its nutrition after seeing a flame.”

Byleth stilled,  and he knew that he’d struck true. He almost grimaced before his face grew even more blank,  which Seteth hadn’t thought to be possible until now as he stared into the pond.  “You sound like Blythe.”

“How so?” Seteth said, recognizing that his next steps would need to be careful ones.

“...She’s changing,” Byleth said after a small silence, and he swore he almost sounded sad. “It’s like she’s venturing off somewhere, and I’m not sure I want to follow.”

“Why the hesitation?” Seteth asked, delicate in his approach.

A crease appeared in his brow. “She kept saying something about…  _ something  _ out there being after ‘people like us.’ There’s something she isn’t telling me.”

_ Slithers _ , his mind supplied. It raised a question, made him wonder at what Blythe knew why. Had she learned of them?  _ How  _ had she learned of them? A book? Some lost account that the church hadn’t been able to find and burn? Had someone  _ told  _ her? She’d been close to Flayn before the kidnapping, but she wouldn’t have said anything too revealing without permission…

...From Rhea.

He didn’t have any evidence to support this line of thinking — nothing truly damning — but all the same nor had he any  _ against  _ it. He had thought she’d buried… no. What did these two people, these  _ children _ , have to do with it? And why would Rhea tell one twin and not the other?

Better yet, how did the two of them number among them at all? What did Rhea know?

Ah, but that was neither here nor there. Right now, there was a young juvenile manakete in front of him who didn’t understand what was happening to him or why a wedge had been driven between him and his other.

“I can’t answer for her,” Seteth said honestly, “but if you have questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.”

It was all he could do to provide him solace.

Byleth looked skeptical, if not outright apprehensive, but his gaze softened into something more resigned, and that hurt him all the same. “What’s happening to me?”

He sounded so morose that Seteth felt bad about almost chuckling at him. He’d been expecting a much more serious question, but he supposed to someone going through it, it  _ was  _ a serious question. Ah, but this was an easy one to answer. After all, he’d been through this before .

“Byleth, do you recall the first time your voice cracked?” Seteth asked, trying to suppress a smile that he hoped was not too wide for fear of making him feel inferior.

“Yeah, why?” he replied, the furrow in his brow returning.

“This is something similar for ‘our kind,’” he said, echoing the words Byleth had used before. “When we begin to mature, we start getting urges like an increase in appetite, like yours now, among other things such as an increase in possessiveness, especially in matters regarding your libido—”

“I’ve already had that talk, thank you,” Byleth interrupted, his words coming out much more quickly than was normal for him.

“That may be, but the talk Sir Jeralt gave you was incomplete,” Seteth said. “He wouldn’t know fully what you’re going through on account of being different from you or I.”

Byleth sighed, and Seteth could have guessed his question without having even heard it.

“What wouldn’t he know?”

Seteth gave a soft bark of laughter despite himself. He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture at Byleth’s sharp stare. “Peace, forgive me. But ah, quite a bit, but such is not his fault,” he managed. “It is… well. You’ve noticed things about your sister, I’m sure, and about yourself. Would you be… amenable, to a quick checklist of traits, so that I can see where you are? From my observations, not only is Blythe further ahead than you, she is still changing in different places than you might be,” he explained as calmly as he could manage, ruthlessly stamping out the blush he could feel fighting to burn onto his cheeks.

Stars, he thought he’d only have to do this once, and it was bad enough then, with Flayn simply being childish, without all the drama implicit around the twins.

Byleth looked at him, unblinking for probably the longest amount of time he’d spent not looking at his bobber.

“...Fine. What kinds of traits, Seteth?” he finally acceded, if perhaps with ill-grace. Seteth smiled all the same.

Seteth stared out at his own bobber, organizing his thoughts carefully.    
  
“Have you always been as hungry as you have been lately?” he began, hoping to start small.   
  
“No. I’m eating significantly more than usual. The only one who eats more than me is that Deer kid, Raphael,” he said bluntly.   
  
“Well, that’s an obvious sign, as I’m sure you’ve put together. Your body is going through a wide variety of changes, and requires energy to fuel it,” he began, hoping to couch his explanation in plain speaking and good science; manaketes were strange, certainly to humans, but they were simply animals, same as men.

“Has your sense of smell sharpened?” Seteth inquired, pointedly not looking at Byleth to give him some semblance of privacy in this personal matter.   
  
Byleth was quiet, for a time. “Yes, but I feel you’re going to tell me there’s more to it than simply being able to smell what’s for dinner without entering the cafeteria,” he said in what Seteth thought might have been a joke. He wasn’t sure, though, what with the boy’s monotone, so he didn’t rise to the easy joke, staying serious.

“You’d be right; I’m likely going to explain a lot of obvious things you or your sister have already noticed, and, I hope, discussed at least a bit. Have you been speaking about your changes?” he asked, as gently as he could manage. He knew the twins were in the midst of some emotional difficulties, but if they only had each other to form a proper Pack with for so many years, even before the changes came, they couldn’t resist being close to each other.

Byleth made an awkward  _ hrmph  _ noise. “No,” was all he said, and Seteth could only give a mute ‘ah’ of understanding. Okay, so perhaps the rift between the two ran deeper than he’d feared.   
  
“I see. Well, if that’s so, I will do my best to be more thorough,” he said, pasting on an awkward smile, his heart breaking to know this boy had been so alone, simply hiding and diverting from this issue, not even speaking to the one person who he could trust about it.

“Please don’t hesitate to ask any questions, no matter how foolish they may seem,” he said with all the warmth and sincerity he could manage. He had been a father for thousands of years, he would help this boy and nothing would stop him.   
  
He was a burgeoning pack leader without a family. It was the saddest thing he’d seen in years.

“These next few are a bit subjective, so I ask you to keep an open mind as I discuss them,” he began as his bobber sank down, and Seteth gave an answering tug, beginning a tug-of-war.

“Now… have you experienced any desire to… mark things?” he grunted, fighting with his line.    
  
“Like… what?” asked Byleth, shiftily, making Seteth grin, revealing a sharp canine.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he stated, as he finally managed to wrangle the fish up out of the water, letting it flop helplessly on the line before he removed the hook and placed it on the pier where it continued  its struggle .

He turned to look Byleth in the eye now, for the first time in the conversation. “Touching people, leaving your scent on them. Marking your territory, your classroom, your desk, places you consider yours. Nothing like that?” he asked, his gaze piercing in the way only a father who knew the truth’s was.

Byleth broke the gaze, looking back to his bobber with a soft pink flush at the top of his cheeks. “...Perhaps,” he hedged.   
  
Seteth tutted, unimpressed. “This won’t work if you aren’t being honest, Byleth,” he said gently but seriously. “I’m asking you to be honest so that I can help you.” He reached over to grab the fish, placing it firmly on Byleth’s lap.   
  
“That’s for you,” he said, a fond smirk on his face.   
  
Byleth looked at him, blank mask taking on an unimpressed slant. “Thanks,” he said tonelessly. “And fine. Yes, I’ve noticed that. A lot.”   
  
Seteth smiled. “Good, good. Now, am I going to have to give you a fish every time, or..?” he teased gently.

Byleth looked at him with his blank face and said, “If you have fish to give, I’ll take them, but I don’t think we need to formalize this bartering system,” in perfect deadpan.  “I’ve had enough of that recently.”

Seteth chuffed, pleased. “Very good. I think that’s best. I’m no great fisherman, and I have many questions for you, if you’re willing.”   
  
“I’m still here holding a fish, aren’t I?” he said, putting the thing back to the side. “Keep going.”

Seteth nodded, spending an oddly long time baiting his hook before casting it out again.   
  
“Possessiveness and protectiveness for people your heart considers ‘yours?’” he asked, tossing his line.   
  
“Yes,” was all Byleth said.   
  
Seteth nodded, letting the silence stretch for a time. “Do you have any questions?” Seteth asked cautiously. “They are… powerful urges, and from what I can see, you resist them admirably,” he said carefully. “But that does not mean it is healthy to do so.”   
  
Byleth fiddled with his pole, checking to see if his bait was still on the line only to find it missing. He sighed, tying on another piece of bait, a blowfly this time. He wanted to catch something good.   
  
He cast. “Why do some people...  _ smell _ so good to me?” he asked, as if the words were pulled piece by piece out of his throat.

Seteth made a soft noise, looking at him. “Some people’s scents are more desirable, it’s true. But I don’t think you’re worried about them smelling pleasant,” he said softly. He turned to stare at his line, waiting for Byleth’s response.   
  
“...I want to mark some people in more… permanents ways, and I feel like a savage for even entertaining the thought,” he grumbled under his breath, his tone sharpening. “It’s nonsense. Why do I want that?”   
  
Seteth felt his conflict. “Bites. Unheard of for humans, but an important act for a manakete, physically, emotionally and symbolically,” he murmured wistfully. “I would tell you not to be afraid, but… I fear there are no comely manaketes here, unless I need to give you a stern lecture about my sister, or worse yet, hide Rhea from you,” he tried to joke. “Or myself.”   
  
“Let’s just put that out of our thoughts,” Byleth said bluntly, to Seteth’s amusement.   
  
“Good, that would have been more awkward than my poor attempts at comedy, and that’s no small feat!” he said with what he hoped was good cheer, before deflating with a sigh, watching his bobber judder. Curiosity, but not a hook yet.   
  
“Bites are a part of us, as much as scenting. The two are linked, in fact. Where have you wanted to bite someone? Just one place?”   
  
“Wait, I want to know about scenting. Blythe has been strange about rubbing against me, is that part of it?” said Byleth, as his own line tugged.   
  
As Byleth pulled and struggled, Seteth nodded. “Probably wise. It’s simply not as complicated, and is mostly harmless to polite society,” he began. “It is a mark of familiarity, a way of showing allegiances and relationships. Not that you would need to worry about such things, but scents mattered based on where they were placed, long ago. It is not relevant anymore.”

Seteth quirked his mouth, mastering himself. “Apologies, I was side-tracked. It is a mark of familiarity, that much is still true. A mark of closeness, a way to recognize people… of possession,” he continued, as Byleth caught the fish, holding it until its fighting stopped.   
  
“Possession?” asked Byleth, eyes meeting his over the fish.   
  
“manaketes… claim one another. We claim those we value, and can be claimed by many people in different levels and different ways. There are marks of acquaintance, of family, and so forth. It is an intimate, but important ritual that is not only important socially, but as a form of emotional release,” he explained, growing uncomfortable at how the boy just held the dead fish in his hand and gently taking it from him to put it next to its unlucky friend.

“Have you… noticed anything like that? Peace, calmness when holding someone you care for, and feeling your scents mixing?” he asked awkwardly.   
  
Byleth still kept his fist up, where the fish had been, looking at him with gimlet eyes. “...Yes. How do I make those feelings stop?” he asked seriously.   
  
“You don’t,” Seteth said with firm severity. “This is a part of your life, now, Byleth. You cannot escape the scents, your desire to bite those you cherish, or any of the other things we’re discussing, and to try to divorce yourself from that part of you will drive you mad.”   
  
Byleth said nothing, simply staring down at his fist.   
  
“Whatever your feelings for us, I must beg you not to entertain that avenue. It will only lead to needless suffering,” he implored softly. “There is nothing to be gained, Byleth.”   
  
Byleth remained silent still, his gaze still trained on his closed fist .    
  
“Promise me, Byleth,” Seteth begged with all of the sincerity he knew to give. “If you take nothing else away from this conversation, please, do not hide from your nature. If not because you are beautiful just as you are, then because it will harm you irreparably.”

“I’m not beautiful,” he scoffed, letting his hand open, looking away with his rod forgotten. “I’m… I don’t know what I am.”   
  
“Then let me explain!” Seteth countered, jamming his rod into a crack in the dock. “Let me, let us explain why you are special, why you should be proud of your heritage. Your mother, she…” Seteth swallowed, catching himself a moment too late.

He had to keep going. “Your mother would have been overjoyed to see you coming into yourself. She was of our blood, but so, so fragile. She wished she could… be like us, participate more in our games, smell us more clearly,” he babbled, going blind with memories of a bookish woman who so loved riding his wyvern with him, and visited his wife’s grave with Flayn when he was too busy.   
  
“I… I don’t wish to use your mother against you this way, but I must speak for her. She would not think you anything but her beautiful child, flawless and exactly as the Goddess made you,” he said with force that surprised him. “I don’t either, nor Rhea, or Flayn. I don’t need to ask them, because we all see how so… how so like us you are, and so like your mother…” he murmured, feeling his eyes grow misty.   
  
His hands twitched with the desire to hold this poor, sweet fledgling.

“Stars above, Byleth, but I look at you and see your mother at times,” he murmured. “I have no idea how I didn’t see it from the moment I met you.”

He could feel how uncertain Byleth was. He knew he was losing his composure, never what an authority figure should do, but  _ stars, _ he missed his sweet cousin, always so kind, so innocent and hungry to see the world. It had only been a bit over 20 years, an eyeblink to a manakete.

“Object lesson,” began Byleth, his voice unsteady. “If you could do anything you wished with me, within kete rules, what would you do?”   
  
“I’d hold you close, scent you, and tell you all I could of your mother’s scent,” he said firmly. It was nearly dusk, everyone had already eaten, and there was no one to see them but a preoccupied student working in the greenhouse.

Byleth took a deep, cleansing breath, eyes shining in the light of the setting sun.   
  
“You may.”   
  
Seteth needed a moment to believe what was happening. Stars, had he truly made a breakthrough? Immediately his hands flew into action straightening his clothing before gently shuffling closer, turning away from the waters to pull the unresisting fledgling to his chest.

He could already feel his scent strengthening, wrapping around the fledgling’s weaker scent protectively. Petrichor, juniper…   
  
“Your mother smelled of juniper, too…” he muttered, pulling Byleth’s head closer to his gland. “The scent comes from near the clavicle, you see? Where neck and shoulder meet,” he said, in soft, soothing tones, just as he had taught Flayn a long, long time ago.

“You smell like wind,” Byleth managed from against Seteth’s chest. Seteth smiled privately.   
  
“How so?” he asked gently, mindlessly stroking Byleth’s back as he fidgeted into a better position.

“You smell like… mountain air. And fields of flowers. I don’t know what kind,” he murmured softly, one hand laying against his chest, the other at his stomach.

Seteth chuckled softly. “Well, don’t fear. Even if it doesn’t seem so, you won’t forget a scent.”   
  
“Blythe smells like… dirt. She’s kind of stinky, honestly,” he said, a trifle conspiratorially.   
  
“But you still like her smell, yes?” he asked, not unkindly.

“...Yeah.”   
  
“Your sister is unlikely to ever smell truly unpleasant to you, unless she is in pain somehow. Scents change, with our emotions; and family, or other people close to you, will always have pleasant smells,” he counselled. “You’ll find that no scent from a human, or, at least one that’s taken a bath recently is truly unpleasant. All are unique, and special in their own ways.”   
  
Seteth sighed, forlorn. “It has been so long, since I taught someone these lessons my mother taught me… Your mother smelled of juniper, and of fresh peat. A bit dusty, but vibrant and full of life beneath the surface, when you smelled more deeply. Many small, subtle smells, that made it so she always kept her mood on her sleeve when she spoke with Rhea especially,” he reminisced, losing himself in fond memories.

“...Did you ever bite each other?” asked Byleth innocently, rubbing awkwardly against his chest, instead of near his collarbone, where he should.   
  
Seteth had to fight an awkward cough at that, but he managed. “N-no. No, bites are for intimate relationships. That is, ah, romantic ones. The only person I allowed to wear my bite at length was my wife. It is akin to a wedding ring, of sorts. A sign of devotion and shared emotion.”   
  
He wriggled a moment, awkwardly pulling at his collar to reveal a pale white mark low and near where he knew his scent was strongest.   
  
“All that’s left of her mark,” he murmured softly. “Traditionally, the mark is reapplied once every year or so. If one does not wish to, then the relationship is allowed to come to a natural end.”

“Bites, they… cause our bodies to change, and mark the other person in much the same way as a scenting would, but more so. It is a mark of deep trust and affection. The emotions that occur when a bite is made are extremely potent, and to break a bite is no small thing. I knew of only two kete couples, back in Zanado who truly found they were not right for one another,” he said, almost thinking aloud.   
  
“But that is neither here nor there. In due time, your eyes will begin to gleam in the moonlight, a gift of greater vision in the dark comes with it as well,” he said, returning to the task he was allotted.   
  
“That happened to Blythe,” Byleth supplied. Seteth nodded with an agreeing noise, stroking Byleth’s hair gently. “Her eyes started glowing in the dark, like a cat’s.”   
  
“Then, if it hasn’t already, her eyes will likely slit,” he answered in turn. “The two steps are somewhat of a wild guess as to which comes first, but if one occurs, the other is not far behind.”   
  
“Slit?  You mean it’ll be…  _ obvious? _ ” Byleth asked,  the implication of it not needing to be voiced , as he looked up and pulled back in alarm.   
  
“No, no, nothing like that,” he soothed, looking at him with his own normal, human eyes. “My eyes can slit, but only in emotional situations or if I wish it. Such is true of almost all ketes who have not grown too wild. So long as you keep yourself in check as I know you have, you should have no issues.”

Byleth gave a palpable sign of relief, sagging against him in the first sign of real emotion he can remember seeing from the boy.

“Don’t worry, Byleth. I have been a manakete among humans for a long, long time, and no one is the wiser. Your secret will not be found out so easily,” he promised.

“But there’s more?” he asked, muffled against him, scenting him properly, nearly making him purr.   
  
“Yes,” Seteth confirmed. “This is an earlier trait which you doubtless have already, but we purr, when among loved ones we trust. It is harmless, of course.”   
  
“I don’t remember doing that,” he murmured, almost sounding disappointed.

“It is not supremely common, particularly in those who keep their emotions under control, as you do. Fledglings are known to purr when they sleep with their loved ones, particularly to start,” Seteth clarified.

“But that is likely the sum of what you will be experiencing for the foreseeable future. There are more, but I doubt either of you will experience it for many years still. But we are very long-lived, after all,” he said, before leaning down to gently scent the fledgling’s gland, which had been desperate to release properly if the bright burst of scent filling his nostrils was any indication. 

“Okay. But what would that look like?” he asked, somewhat nervously.   
  
“Well…” Seteth began awkwardly. These were traits that were a bit more difficult to explain without making manaketes seem stranger than they were. “Adult manaketes get a third set of teeth, for one,” he explained gently. “It varies from kete to kete, but in due time, you will grow a third set of sharper teeth. Not viciously so, mind,” he hastily amended, “but meant for tearing through meat, and so forth. We can obviously eat vegetables and the like, but we prefer meat. It will be perfectly simple to explain away, as I have. I doubt you noticed how sharp Flayn or Rhea’s teeth were, hmm?”

“...I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled, muffled in his clothing.

“So don’t worry about that,” Seteth soothed. “I—  _ we  _ have lived among humans for a very long time. More changes will come, some I don’t know will even express themselves, but none will be a true risk to you in day to day life if you fear being revealed, as we all do.”

“...What about things not in day to day life?” he asked, catching the hint he wanted to avoid but could not hide.

Seteth took a steeling breath . “A manakete, when pushed to their limits and desperate to survive can express certain feral traits,” he explained, tone going wooden. “It hardly ever happens. But in our hearts, we are dragons. If your body deems it necessary, your nails can sharpen into darkened claws, and you may even develop, ah…  _ scales _ , on parts of your body. They are strong, and can even block sword-strikes.”   
  
Byleth stilled at this revelation, scent growing sour. Less petrichor, more brackish, sickly water, too salty to sustain life.

“...Do they change back?” he asked, tone worryingly flat.    
  
“Y-yes,” Seteth answered, desperate to calm the fledgling whose scent burned his nose. “It takes time for the scales and claws to, ah, fall out, but they do with time. Were it necessary, covering clothing and a sturdy pair of gloves would suffice.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “No change, no matter how grave, can’t be reversed. I don’t think you can even gain pointed ears as us, hm, ‘green-hairs’ have. We were born with them.”

He saw how Byleth dressed now and wondered how much more covered he could even be, how he could hide himself further, and the thought saddened him .   
  
“You are both a unique case; We have no records of blue-haired ketes before your mother, with a human father no less, so it is possible that some of those traits may simply never come,” he sighed. “I don’t know if that brings you comfort, but… suffice to say we will do our best to keep an eye on your growth, and guide you as needed, and keep your secrets.”

Byleth nodded against his chest.   
  
“...Thank you, Seteth. I have not been kind to any of you,” he sighed, pulling back to look at him seriously. “But I appreciate what you have done for me.”   
  
He paused.   
  
“...For us.”   
  
He picked up one of the fish he’d caught then, looking at it dubiously. He looked at Seteth, and then back at the fish. Seteth said nothing, simply watching Byleth curiously.   
  
In an unexpected move, Byleth leaned forward, taking a hearty bite out of the fish, removing its head with a loud  _ crunch _ .

“Ah!” Seteth managed in his surprise. He watched his fledgling chewing contemplatively, a knot of confused trepidation in his stomach. Byleth swallowed. 

The silence dragged on. “...You’re right. This is  _ superior _ . I will fish even  _ more  _ now…” he grumbled, in what Seteth hoped was good nature. He held the now-headless fish contemplatively, before thrusting it in Seteth’s direction. “How do you do it?” he asked, making Seteth’s heart melt.   
  
Byleth knew how to eat a damned fish. He was… he was sharing his food with him.

Just like other instincts, it was hard to explain the value food held for manaketes compared to humans. Food was personal, food was meant for yourself, or your loved ones, no one else, another permutation of the possessive streak all manaketes held. 

Gently he reached forward, taking the proffered fish. “I tend to prefer smaller fish that I can simply swallow whole. My wife and I, we would feed them to each other like grapes,” he said with a fond chuckle.   
  
“But with a larger one like this, I prefer to start at the belly, he explained, opening his mouth wide, making sure to show off his mature manakete teeth — viciously sharp, more pointed than a human’s, but not to the point of looking unnatural without close inspection. He still had molars, simply more pointed ones that could handle crushing bone and tearing flesh apart instead of chewing it.

With his own firm crunch, he tore about half of its stomach region out, careful to leave more for his hungry fledgling. He chewed and swallowed, fighting back the urge to groan. “Oh, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a fresh, raw fish…”

He handed the fish back to Byleth. “The head and belly are generally the best part, but the bones are also good for you. Some have a taste for them as well — I know Rhea does — so eating the spine and so forth is healthy. You’re a growing fledgling, so eat your bones, alright? Think of it as eating your vegetables before dessert,” he said, teasing gently.

Byleth scoffed good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah…” he grunted as he pulled himself into a standing position, picking up his other fish as well.  He paused a moment as if struggling with something internal before meeting his eyes . “...Thanks again.”   
  
“Think nothing of it, Professor,” he said kindly,  his smile reaching his eyes . “I’m sure you still have paperwork to catch up on, so don’t stay on my account, but if you ever have questions, or need guidance in such matters as we’ve discussed, my door is open to you.”   
  
He nodded, standing awkwardly another moment longer before marshalling himself and walking away with smooth, confident steps.

Seteth watched him go, his heart warm and hopeful. He truly hoped he had helped in some way to put some of his fledgling’s worries to rest.

Before he could think better of it, he called out. “Share some with your sister, perhaps? You two should speak!”

Byleth turned, pausing in his stride to look at him, face unreadable. “...I’ll consider it,” he answered placidly.

Seteth felt his hopefulness gain a grain, but he still held onto the belief that he would never disown his sister. Whatever disagreements had been caused by their discussion that night would not break them. He had to believe that, or he’d never forgive himself.

In sober silence he picked up their rods as Byleth walked off, putting them away and returning their unused bait to the counter. It was time to return to Flayn. Hopefully Rhea had sent another stack of documents for him to work through so he wouldn’t be stuck alone with his thoughts.

He trudged up the stairs, letting the warmth of his interaction with Garreg Mach’s wayward manakete keep him occupied.

He reached the infirmary’s door, opening it quietly, even if Flayn likely couldn’t hear.

He stepped in to look up and find a stranger in the room, and for a moment his heart stopped.

Edelgard? No, it wasn’t her. It was the other one with white hair, the Golden Deer student, Lysithea. Another student Rhea was interested in, sitting quietly and eating a tart, seated next to Flayn, both cheerily munching with happy smiles on their faces.

“Oh, hello, brother!” Flayn called happily.

It was a good thing he hadn’t been carrying anything, or he’d have dropped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As ever, comments and kudos are appreciated! If you'd like to come say hello, we have a vibrant little Discord at https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm and you are all more than welcome to come say hi! Please be aware it is an 18+ discord.


	24. A Sister's Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is conflicted, and Blythe has a plan.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was inconsolable, and at this point he didn’t really care who knew it.

He still could hardly believe what had happened in Abyss. That it existed at all was a minor marvel to him, but when magical chalices, horrific monsters and his professor’s  _ mother _ got involved, all he could really do was follow behind, mute. It wasn’t his story anymore.

It was Byleth, and that Ashen Wolf boy, Yuri’s story, to his heart’s horror.

They got along so well. They talked, and cajoled and teased, and it seemed so  _ easy _ for Yuri, cutting through Byleth’s armor like it was nothing, them going off to be in private, and…

He didn’t think the Professor was the type, but foolish or not, he worried that he’d missed his chance.

When they finally left Abyss to return to the  surface , he could smell the tension between them, and it took all of his discipline to keep marching on, soaked in blood and feeling by all accounts like the animal he feared he was:  stained crimson , filthy, and unworthy of human contact.

He ran to the sauna posthaste and washed himself fastidiously, trying desperately to  scrub  away the blood that he was covered in, Yuri’s blood. Yuri, Yuri,  _ Yuri _ — he was everywhere, mocking him.

In the privacy of the baths he scowled, and even when he had left, steaming and clean, his mood had not improved.

Indeed, it hadn’t in days.   
  
The Professor was different. The lessons were different,  _ he  _ was different _. _ The only reason he could think of was that something had happened, probably something involving Yuri.  It seemed likely, even if he was holding a hammer and seeing nails .

Another class had ended, Dimitri more preoccupied with his beloved Professor’s love life than his studies,  something he could almost hear his uncle scolding him for .   
  
He knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t stop and he didn’t care enough to stop. With barely restrained strength, he thrust his books into his desk’s cubby. He was not getting any work done today.   
  
“My prince,” came a deep voice from behind him,  and he had to still himself. In through the nose, out through the mouth .   
  
“What is it, Dedue?” asked Dimitri, exhausted. He knew where this was going.   
  
“The Professor assigned us a chapter of readings for tomorrow. It would be in your best interest to bring your copy of  _ Fódlan at Wa _ r back to your dorm with you to complete that,” he explained in his soothing tones.

He bit back the urge to scoff at his retainer. He was only doing what he was meant to. “Thank you, Dedue,” he ground out, “but I fear I don’t have it in me today; I will catch up another day.”

Even without looking at him, he felt Dedue still behind him. There was a long silence.   
  
“Look, don’t worry, alright? I’m out of sorts today, as I’m sure you noticed.  And I’m sure Ashe could use the company , so leave me,” he grunted, standing from his desk with a crash of his fists against the  wood to push him up, pointedly not looking at the Professor’s desk, where  _ he _ still sat, the cause of all this.

“ Your Highness , if something is troubling you, perhaps I can—”

“ _ No, _ Dedue, and that’s final. It’s personal.”   
  
His eyes scanned the room, most of the students already gone,  save for Ashe who was by the door however, looking meaningfully at Dedue.

“Look,  how I feel is of no consequence. It is not a matter than can be helped, and there are others in better need ,” he almost pleaded. “ They will be better company than I.”   
  
Uncertainty flashed through the man’s eyes  before he turned to glance at Ashe, who waved shyly.  But, at length , he let out a sigh of defeat. “As you say, Your Highness. If you require me, chances are good we will be near the cafeteria,” he said before stepping away and well into Ashe’s personal space, the two speaking in hushed murmurs.

He let out a breath he had only been vaguely aware he’d been holding . Gods, he loved Dedue like a brother, but he could be such a mother hen sometimes,  even when the matter at hand would be best remedied by solitude . He stretched languorously, groaning appreciatively as his muscles stretched after sitting in class for so long.

Finally, fearfully, hopefully he chanced a glance up at the desk.

Byleth was just working, as he always did; quill in hand, marking their papers  from the days prior . He crushed the urge to feel jealous at pieces of  _ paper _ and turned in a clean parade pivot, walking out of the classroom with his greaves heralding his retreat on the tile.

The Professor did not stop him.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, a cool wind slicing through his clothing and prompting him to wrap his cape more tightly around himself.  He wondered absently if he should bother asking for his winter vestments before the season turned, but then what would be the point if autumn hadn’t fully set in yet. It wasn’t as though the cold had ever truly bothered him, or any other Faerghus native for that matter.

He chose to ignore the pit forming in his stomach at the thought of his father’s old blue fur-lined cloak that he knew had been packed reverently in one of the trunks .

It would only be another disappointment he would bring. But then, that seemed to be the only thing he was capable of. He hadn’t paid attention in class , he  _ wasn’t  _ going to do his homework, and he had no idea what he was going to do with himself, either for the day or regarding his problems.   
  
Wonderful decision, Prince Dimitri.  Another to place among the growing collection .   
  
He knew he was frowning, students giving him a wide berth as he stomped off towards the training grounds. Nothing else had served, so perhaps working up a sweat and washing up afterwards would at least distract him for a time.

He was surprised when he was the only one there after class. He was privately certain that Felix would have been there, but perhaps he had some other concern he was dealing with today, or trained in the morning instead.  But it wasn’t as though it was his business,  he supposed .

Nor was it as though the  _ Professor’s  _ business was his to stick his nose into, either.

He grabbed a lance, and almost thoughtlessly, he ran it straight through a dummy, and was frustrated to find he felt no better.

He did it again, to the same effect.

Pointless. His energy would be spent for naught, and he would learn nothing .   
  
He left the lance where it lay in the dummy’s chest, walking towards a punching bag. Perhaps some simple exertion would help.

He wound up, preparing a blistering haymaker, only to have the bag split like an overripe melon as his swing went straight through it, the sand quickly forming a mountain where the gaping wound he left bled the bag’s contents.   
  
Dimitri could only yell in frustration as everything broke uselessly around him.   
  
He hated this, he hated it, he  _ hated  _ it, why couldn’t the world handle his freakish strength? Why couldn’t things just  _ work out _ for him?   
  
A world made of paper, always gentle, always kind and polite;  so pristine, so delicate, and yet it would marr at the lightest touch. It didn’t matter how poised, how well he moved with practiced perfection, for when the heavens struck sand, it would leave behind a glassy scar. And it would shatter.

He carried the same blessing as his father, but while he had borne the crown and walked tall, Dimitri would misstep and fumble. How had the world been built for him while it fell apart for his son? What had his father done to succeed where he himself only saw failure?

Why wasn’t he good enough?

…

Perhaps the better Blaiddyd should have emerged from the carriage .

He let loose a shaky gasp, falling back onto his haunches, in the pile of sand.

He couldn’t do anything right. 

He couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t be what people wanted. He couldn’t… he didn’t even have the courage to reach for what he wanted, for fear that it would shatter in his hand as everything inevitably did.

He was breathing heavily, and his throat was tight with emotion. His elbows were on his knees, head in his hands, and he desperately, desperately wanted to be  someone else in that moment.  Anyone but himself .

“Dimitri.”   
  
His head whipped around like an arrow, wide, traitorously wet eyes searching for the person who’d witnessed his shame.

It was a woman, it was… it was a dark shadow, a specter mocking him,  a distorted reflection that looked so much like the object of his desires.   
  
“Professor Blythe,” he choked out uselessly,  standing upright quickly enough that he would have knocked over a table had there been one .   
  
“I didn’t think I’d find you here, Your Highness,” she said casually, stepping closer from where she’d been at the entrance to the grounds,  allowing the door to close with a muffled sound behind her . Her eyes, the same deep blue that haunted his days, searched his own, and, for how her brow furrowed lightly, perhaps found something she hadn’t wanted to see. A familiar disappointment . “Are you alright?” she asked, in a tone that reminded him far too much of her brother.   
  
He straightened, dusting sand off his calves  in soft billows and being careful not to meet her eyes . “I am fine,” he said, in careful monotone.   
  
“ There are two impaled dummies and a deflating sandbag that would say otherwise ,” she said dispassionately. “I was looking for you, but I think that can wait. Maybe I can help, because I think I might have an idea what’s wrong.”   
  
Her eyes did a strange thing, flitting next to him and narrowing, as if someone was there. He fought the urge to scoff. “I don’t think I want to have that conversation with you, Professor,” he said with more bite than he’d used in months.

“Sometimes we don’t want what we need,” she countered almost breezily. “And it seems like my precious brother hasn’t been giving you what  _ you _ need, has he?” she asked, her wide eyes, wider than her brother’s, staring straight through him, stripping him of his armor with unnatural ease.

“H-he is a perfectly capable teacher, actually, and I don’t think he’d appreciate you trying to poach his class leader,” he answered almost frantically.   
  
She scoffed blatantly. “That’s not what I meant, and I think you knew that.”  She sighed, allowing her shoulders to fall from the assertive height she’d been holding them at, and a less belligerent expression took its place on her face . “Look, can we talk? I can help you, I promise,” she entreated, still infuriating in her ease and casualness.

“With  _ what? _ ” he snapped, fists clenching. “What could you  _ possibly  _ know about me? We’re strangers!” he demanded, insulted by her self-assuredness. His problems weren’t something a person just  _ fixed. _ If it were that easy he’d have done it.   
  
“I know you want my brother, and I know he wants you back,” she said, like a lightning strike.   
  
Dimitri’s mind ground to a screeching halt, hands loose at his sides, eyes unseeing.

What...?   
  
“I know you want him, and I know he’s been being a proper  _ shit _ the last few weeks, and I can help you set him to rights, even if he doesn’t know what he wants,” she continued, stepping closer, mouth set in a determined line.

“He’s confused, right now, about a lot of things, and he’s refusing to get help. He thinks he knows what’s best for him, and I gave him time to come to his own conclusions, and he’s taking too long,” she continued, stepping forward until there were only a handful of feet between them.   
  
“If it puts you at ease, this isn’t about you, Dimitri. I’m not interested in getting into your business. This is about my brother and what a fool he’s being, and I think our interests align in making sure he comes back to himself and stops running from his problems and his needs.”

Dimitri could only stand there, dumbstruck. This woman, this almost complete stranger had walked up to him, and just pointed to the exact problem that had been torturing him for weeks effortlessly, and offered him a solution. What was happening? Was this some kind of joke? A gift from the gods?  No, there had to be strings he wasn’t seeing, but he was too addled to know.

“I—” he swallowed, mastering himself,  crossing his arms over his chest in the way a trained noble would when faced with any good proposition . “Okay, you have my attention. What do you propose?” he asked cautiously, looking at her with a gimlet eye.   
  
He had of course looked over both twins carefully when they had first met, a few months and a hundred years ago. She was dangerous, beautiful, striking. Were he the sort, he’s sure he would have made a proper fool of himself trying to woo her as he was her brother.  Perhaps in a different life . But now he really looked at her, looked at her eyes.   
  
She was smart. Her eyes were flat, calculating, with a gleam of unmistakable intelligence. She was scruffy, a bit unkempt frankly, but he could sense the unmitigated  _ competence _ she radiated. She deserved all of his attention in this moment as she stepped forward, invading his personal space.   
  
“Well, this probably isn’t the best place for it,” she said in his ear, before breathing him in audibly. She pivoted, running her arm through his elbow. “Come on, we’ll find a better place,” she said, before bodily pulling him along before he caught up and they left the training grounds.

When she pulled the door open effortlessly, she chuckled. “Of course he’d like you, oil slick...” she murmured low enough to be meant for her but not low enough for him not to hear.

If Dimitri could see his face, he was sure it would be utterly drained of color. Or perhaps there would be too much. He was afraid to put a hand to his cheeks to find out which, afraid that he’d either feel clammy or too warm even through the gauntlet, and he wasn’t sure which was more favorable .

And yet, he knew that the cause of either would be a much more pertinent issue if not immediate. He wasn’t sure what was going on, nor whether he wanted to find out. But if Blythe was telling the truth — which he  _ had  _ to hope she was — then he would do it, for the Professor. Even if he would never know the reason why .

Though, if this was anything like he felt it was, he wasn’t sure how it was going to  _ help _ .

Blythe proved to have a strong grip. She dragged him effortlessly around the Monastery, all the way to Rhea’s administrative building, which he’d only been in a handful of times. “Where are we going?” he asked, digging his heels in to stop her endless pulling.   
  
“Relax, we’re just going to an empty office for privacy,” she explained, her off-hand fluttering dismissively. “Nothing strange, just the two of us.”

_ Nothing strange _ . Hah. His uncle would deride him for such a comment, though he would have worse to say about  _ all this _ . His mouth quirked, but he nodded. He allowed the pushy woman to drag him along further, up stairs and through halls to an office marked  _ Cpt. Jeralt Eisner _ .

“Are we supposed to be here...?” he all but whispered as Blythe pushed him through the door, closing it behind them and locking it with a  _ click _ .   
  
“Honestly, I’m a professor, have some faith,” she sighed almost good-naturedly. “Goddess, you don’t comb your hair before morning mess and people think you don’t know what you’re talking about…” she grumbled, taking her father’s seat, gesturing for him to take its opposite across the well-organized desk  that almost seemed ill-fitted for her, but saying so would only prove her point. Or earn him a lecture .

With slow, telegraphed movements, he took his seat, the two of them staring at each other intently over the large desk.

“...So,” began Dimitri awkwardly. “The Professor has been acting strangely.”

“He has. And he  _ refuses  _ to speak to me on the matter. I had to learn about the Abyss incident from  _ Edelgard _ of all people,” she agreed, fingers drumming against the desk. “Dragon monsters, the archbishop burning it to ash, doesn’t think his sister needs to know,” she said, lips quirked firmly downwards. 

Inwardly, Dimitri felt guilty, complicit as he was in the harm it had caused her, even if he hadn’t known that it would, but that didn’t change the fact that it had. He hadn’t even needed his Crest for this one. Another tally to the board .

“ He insists that the secrets that had him going down there in the first place need to be uncovered before he’ll find any peace, and he refuses to listen to the experts on the matter,” she opined. “But that’s where you come in, Dimitri. I know he’s been behaving strangely, probably keeping his distance from you while giving everyone else physical signs of affection, right?” she asked, gimlet eyes locking onto him.

She had alarming focus. He was legitimately curious where she got her information, but she was correct. He nodded. “Naturally,” she sighed. “He’s an ass, Dimitri, it’s not your fault. He thinks he’s being a gentleman by keeping his distance,” she explained in bored, blank tones. “He’s stuck in his own head and he refuses to get out until the problem he’s trying to solve has an answer he wants to hear, which will never happen.”   
  
“So… where does that leave me?” he asked sincerely, nervously. “I… just want things to return to how they were.”   
  
“No, you don’t, Dimitri, you want to kiss him, and you’ve both been dancing around the issue like shy maidens instead of facing your feelings, and I’d prefer it if you hurried up and got that over with,” she said bluntly, making Dimitri flinch uncomfortably.   
  
She— that is, she was right, but…  not fully. No, there was something else. He had been aware that the Professor and his sister both seemed to lack… certain knowledge of Fódlan, most of it centering around the Church, but… the two of them were common-born, something he knew now for a fact. Even if he didn’t know how, they had been raised away from serfdom, away from the aristocracy, away from politics, the crown.

Away from the responsibility.

Dimitri had known from the time he was small that he would one day sit on the throne in Fhirdiad, in the heart of Faerghus, with a smart match at his side, and then one day, his son or daughter would do the same. It was right. It was expected of him.

So, no, he didn’t think he would  _ hurry up _ and  _ get it over with _ because he had a responsibility as the man who would one day wear the crown, no matter how much he might want otherwise. As the one who would lead the kingdom, he was to be a vessel for the people therein. His desires were inconsequential, a distraction.

It didn’t matter that he wanted what he couldn’t have.

“With all due respect, Professor Eisner,” he began, his posture rigid in a display of dignity that he should still hold, “I prefer to keep my personal affairs private, and I would ask that they remain as such .”

Blythe frowned. “Why,” she asked softly. “What are you afraid of?” she asked gently, her hand skittering closer to his, but not quite touching.

She paused for a long moment, eyes closed. “—I’m sorry. I’m probably being too pushy,” she said, true contrition in her voice. “Not everyone cares for others in the same way I do, and I forget that sometimes.”

There was a slump in her shoulders now . “I just… I care too much for my brother to let him torture himself like this. Surely you’ve seen it,” she implored. “That sweet fool, who thinks it is better that he suffer in silence than let someone in to help him.”

“I can’t claim to know what troubles him, but…” Dimitri started, averting his eyes as he considered his words, his wants, for at the end of the day, no one else would spare them a second thought. So he would entertain them for now.

Even if they would one day have to flicker out.

“But…?” Blythe repeated, perhaps seeking to coax it out of him.

“ _ But _ I want to be there to aid him if and when he needs it of me,” Dimitri finished, once more finding the steel within to look her in the eye .

Blythe nodded firmly. “Good—that’s good. I… will do my best to respect your boundaries, if you don’t want my help with, um, the specifics of your relationship with him. That’s fine. I’m sorry for being pushy. I wasn’t thinking,” she said, running light fingers over his wrist, eyebrows pinched in apology.

“He and I, we… I had to help give him difficult news, and now he doesn’t want to talk to me, it seems,” she said, smiling mirthlessly. “Classic Byleth. He thinks he can solve his problems on his own without any help. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help him without him knowing, not that I care if he knows this time.”

Blythe seemed to lose herself for a moment, staring up above his head, her face carefully blank. “...I admit, I came in here without a specific plan in mind,” she admitted, glaring at something there. “But you are the student I know Byleth holds in highest regard. If you can’t get through to him, I don’t know who can.” 

Then she took his hand in both of hers.

Hers were so much smaller than his,  but he didn’t miss the calluses that covered them and couldn’t help but think of the Professor’s and how he almost always kept them gloved save for the day in the knights hall all those months ago . “I can... I can give you advice on how to make him pay attention to you —  _ make  _ him pay attention to you in a way he can’t ignore. Then, maybe you two could talk about some of your issues, and give him an outlet for his feelings,” she said, pulling a sheaf of blank parchment, quickly dipping a quill and slashing shorthand into it quickly.   
  
“Thoughts on that?”

The question caught him off-guard, and he felt himself fighting the color in his cheeks. “I’m not so sure on what you mean by an… outlet. ”

“Someone who makes him feel better. Someone he feels he can be safe, and open with,” she said, with a deep and abiding pain running beneath it. “He needs someone who cares for him unconditionally. And I think that might be you.” She smiled up at him, meeting his eyes,  though there seemed to be a deep sadness however subtle behind her own .   
  
“He doesn’t want his sister anymore, so… even if he is being unreasonable, I will do what I can for him,” she said, voice steady, tone soft and gentle, and so full of pain.

Dimitri shook his head. “I don’t think that’s true, Professor,” he said, drawing her eyes back to him in the present from whatever perceived reality she had wandered into. “Even if he may think it — which I highly doubt — he  _ does  _ need you, or I don’t think we would be here having this conversation .”

Her smile shone without warmth. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly. 

“I seldom am, but I have confidence in this at least,” Dimitri replied, then gesturing towards the yet blank parchment between them. “So, how will this help? ”

“Brother, he...” she sighed, cradling her head in one palm,  the other drumming on the old stained mahogany . “How do I explain this?” she asked the thing above his head, making him quirk his eyebrow in confusion.   
  
“He... has come to realize things about himself that he is uncomfortable with,” she stumbled awkwardly,  giving him the distinct impression that she was dancing around something that she was hesitant to share . “I... oh, can’t I just show it?” she asked no one in particular. She stood abruptly, stepping around the desk, seating herself near him on the desk.

“He’s scared. He needs people who don’t know him to accept him, in these times. He knows I’ll accept him no matter what, but… he needs proof he’s not a freak,” she said, mouth curving distastefully on the last word. “Which he’s  _ not. _ ”   
  
Her shoulders sank once more . “Look, he… he needs someone to show him that it’s okay, that it’s, that he’s normal,” she said, almost pleading. “You know?”

Dimitri nodded as he took in the information, trying his best to process it and turn it over in his head for any sort of underlying meaning. And while he couldn’t discern anything concrete, he did find a pattern, one that he could relate to on a more fundamental level. There was something there, something deeper than the Professor would like for anyone to reach, and Dimitri supposed he could sympathize.

“I’m starting to,” he said at length, and he found that the statement held more truth than he had previously thought, both hoping and against that Blythe before him would catch onto .

“Oh, thank the  _ stars _ ,” she moaned. “So, you understand? He’s — there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just…” she paused, eyes growing hazy. “He’s the same person he’s always been,” she murmured softly.   
  
“And, and I need, I need someone to… to show him, because I  _ can’t, _ you know? I’m too close,” she managed, grabbing onto his hand again as if a lifeline. “But you  _ can. _ ”

Dimitri cocked his head. “What makes me so uniquely situated? ”

“Because you’re unrelated,” she explained gently. “You’re not me, you’re not any of the people who are—who are like that, you can be an unbiased opinion to make clear he’s still the same person he’s always been,” she clarified.   
  
“I know my brother better than anyone, but even I’m not a mindreader when it comes to him. I’m just… I just hope this helps him, because I don’t know what else I can do.”   
  
She sat still after that, staring down at her father’s desk, gritting behind her lips like she’d been wounded.   
  
“And you think I can help,” he supplied gently  with a smile, which he quickly disposed of when he remembered he shouldn’t be making light of something that caused another pain. Truly, his uncle would chastise him for something like this. He shouldn’t find comfort in a shared shame . “You truly think I can help the Professor to, to— to right himself?”   
  
“I don’t know, Dimitri,” she said, smiling and exhausted. “I’m just trying things. Nothing I could do alone did anything, so I’m trying to find another solution, because  even if he doesn’t know it , my brother needs me.”

Then her eyelids lifted suddenly, her eyes open and still before she slowly turned them back to him. And, if Dimitri’s own weren’t playing tricks on him, he could have sworn they almost slitted.

“...Almost as much as he needs you,” she said almost breathlessly, and Dimitri got the sudden feeling that he didn’t like whatever idea had just crossed her mind .

“He needs to see you,” she murmured breathily  as she stood up, making cold sweat suddenly trickle down his neck.   
  
“And I need to make him realize that,” she whispered, a hand creeping up to where his shoulder met his neck.

Her eyes were well and truly slit now, like a snake’s — like a  _ dragon’s  _ — and his heart was loud in his ears, air not cold enough to calm his beating heart.   
  
“Maybe… if I were to mark you, he’d finally seek me out…” she murmured into his ear, as if she was the one who had been hypnotized. “He’d be so angry… he wouldn’t be able to deny his feelings, then.”   
  
“Wh-what, ah, do you mean by that?” he asked, voice rising gradually in pitch to his embarrassment.   
  
She ran her nose along his neck, breathing in deeply, his shock rendering him immobile beneath her ministrations.   
  
“Don’t be afraid, Dimitri, I assure you I have no designs on you. But my brother will sense my presence on you, and he won’t be able to resist. It won’t go further than that,” she promised, her eyes still  those unnatural slits , a cloying scent in the air, like deep, fresh earth stopping his mind up. Her hand was on his cheek, calloused yet soft. “If you wish to have my brother fall into your arms, there are only a few simple things you must do…”   
  
She murmured, so close, whispering secrets into his ear he was convinced he had no business knowing. She told him of his neck, of bites, of nails, before pulling back abruptly and walking over to the window, briskly slamming it open.   
  
“Do it properly, and you’ll have him in much the same daze you’re in now!” she called cheerily, jolting him out of his fugue.   
  
Evidently he had been part of some sort of object demonstration, which had him blushing as scarlet as Adrestia’s flag.   
  
“I-I, ah, yes. Alright then,” he squeaked out, rubbing uncomfortably at his neck.

“Don’t wash away my good work yet, Dimitri,” she chided gently. “He will sense my work, and it will  _ incense  _ him. He won’t stand for that, and it’s up to you what you decide to do with his response,” she advised him, the fresh air breathing life into the room and returning sense to his thoughts. 

He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he had tried to kick because of his crest out of fear of tearing a hole in the side, but he found he needed the sensation for the way his mind wandered beyond him .

It took him a good, long moment to return to himself fully, four things he could see, three he could hear, two he could feel. He chose to skip the one thing he could smell.

At length, he reopened his eyes, feeling composed once more, and found Professor Blythe looking at him with a look that read as either satisfied and hopeful. He straightened his back and rolled back his shoulders before meeting her eyes.

“I can’t claim to know how you believe this will work,” he said, holding his gaze as level as he dared, “but if you think it will help him, then I shall seek him out.”

“Oh, you won’t need to,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You go out there smelling like that and he’ll find you before the hour is out.”

“Very well,” Dimitri answered as he stood up, pushing the chair out behind him with a light vibrato. “I bid you a good afternoon, Professor Eisner,” he said with a polite bow.

“And to you as well, Your Highness,” he heard her call to his back as he turned to leave, her eyes following him as he closed the door .

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but swagger. The Professor would want to see him? The Professor would want to spend time with him?   
  
As strange as that entire experience was, it would be a small price to pay to finally see his smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	25. At Gronder Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Eagle and Lion comes to pass. Things don't go as planned.
> 
> Jeralt reminds us all he's a good father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. We hope this chapter is worth the wait!

Blythe was angry enough to spit.

  


After all her hard work, the embarrassment of speaking with Dimitri and he still hadn’t risen to the bait. Sothis had teased her relentlessly afterwards and she didn’t even have the strength to contest it.

He’d walked in and seemed wholly unbothered by anything that she’d set into motion as if his instincts weren’t howling for blood, that perfect smile on his face like he didn’t miss her.

  


Didn’t he understand that she was doing this for _them_ ? This needed to stop, they needed to be united, but he was just meandering around going on dangerous adventures without back-up and leaving her in the lurch.  
  
All told he seemed to be doing fine, and that infuriated her. Why wasn’t being without his other bothering him like it was bothering her? Was he truly leaving her behind? Because she was a manakete and embracing it? It didn’t make sense, couldn’t be true.

  


Not that it truly mattered. Their day at Gronder had come, and they would have to acknowledge each other whether he wanted to or not.

They had both been preparing for this battle in their own respects over these past few months with countless lessons, drills, and sparring, and now it was time to see what their students could do. There had been blood spilled here long ago, but now they would relive that history, to prove which house was strongest and the worthiest successor to the Field’s bloody legacy.

  


While Blythe had confidence in her Eagles, and she had no intention of losing, she was really here for her brother’s sake. She just wanted to be acknowledged, for her brother to look her in the eye and find her an equal, even, that neither of them was the lesser, and they were both in this mess together.

  


It had been a long, dull ride to Gronder; she hadn’t forced the children to listen to her lecture or anything so dull, she knew they were all tense about the upcoming fight. Better to let them vent a bit on the ride there.

  


Once they finally arrived at the grounds and pitched their tents in the agreed-upon _Neutral Zone_ for all the houses, she did make it a point to acknowledge them though.  
  
She lined them up, looking them over critically; they were not in combat regalia yet, but she wanted them respectful and attentive, hence the formal stance.

  


She turned to her class fully and straightened her shoulders formally. “Alright, Eagles, listen up.”

They all stood at attention, and her chest swelled with pride.

  


“You might think this is similar to the battle at the start of the semester. It’s not,” she began, tone strict in a way she rarely used for her children. “You and your colleagues in the other houses have all been training in the best ways to kill each other for the past several months. You’re going to be facing the strongest threat you’ve ever dealt with. These aren’t hungry, desperate bandits; they’re legitimate, trained fighting forces with strong groundings in tactics and combat.”  
  
She clasped her hands tightly behind her back, resisting the urge to hold them all close and protect them, knowing it to be a foolish and unrealistic hope. “The Deer and the Lions have both been training, and don’t forget how narrow our victory was before,” she warned, hoping she didn’t sound like she was chiding or rebuking them.  
  
She cared too much about what her children thought; she wasn’t used to it, wasn’t used to _caring_ so much. For the longest time, the only star in her sky was Byleth, but since coming here, since learning about her nature, her sky was filled with beautiful constellations, relationships stitching them all together into a warm, beautiful tapestry in her mind.

  


And Edelgard burned oh so brightly, second only to her brother. And even now, her striking violet eyes shone with dignity.

  


This… thing they had was not understood by either of them. It was a secret, taken only in private, hidden moments, touching each other, Blythe nuzzling, lipping and tasting her throat, fighting the urge to do more.  
  
She knew her without explanation or justification. She understood, somehow, as if at some point she’d taken a course just on understanding her feelings and her instincts. When she had been at her lowest point, the both of them hidden in the shade behind the greenhouse, she had spoken to her with such clear, incisive and utterly correct observations she’d been gobsmacked.  
  
“Your brother still needs you. He’s just forgotten. Or, he’s trying to forget. He’s always been good at hiding his tells, hasn’t he?” she’d asked, as she trailed light fingers over her collarbone. “He thinks if he can break himself of his instincts, then things can return to normal, but they won’t. He’ll come back, tail between his legs, and you need to be strong for him when he does, because he’ll need you,” she stated with imperious certainty, as if she were explaining how the sun would rise in the east tomorrow.

  


Those words had simultaneously hit her like a warhammer to the chest and like the gentlest breeze. It was exactly what she needed to hear, and she still had no idea how she’d known to say something so… wise? Well-informed?  
  
She didn’t know what had happened to Edelgard since they’d fought over tea, but she seemed like she’d become a different person. Her scent was the same, but she’d changed so much overnight, and she had no idea how to respond to that intelligently, especially when her mind would simply stutter to a stop whenever Edelgard touched her.

  


When she woke from her reverie, she was pacing, still speaking to her assembled students, their serious, focused eyes giving her the confidence to know she hadn’t said something foolish as she feared she might’ve.

  


“I have done my utmost best to teach you all I know, to help prepare you for such a battle, but the learning never ends,” she continued, and then on a gentler note, “I want you to fight with all you have. Work together, fight bravely, and protect one another,” she said, walking through the ranks, fingers brushing against their shoulders as she passed.  
  
“Some of you may make mistakes and fall in battle;, but remember the point of these exercises: to learn and improve through a live-fire exercise. No matter what, win or lose, _learn._ This fight means nothing, but the lessons you take away will.”  
  
She grinned at them. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see us the winners, though.” She returned back to the front of the class, her eyes painfully gentle. “You are my beloved Eagles. I believe in you, and I believe in the strength you have as a House. Trust the people here with you, as they will in turn. Have faith that everyone will do their job as they must, and you will be capable of doing things you didn’t think possible,” she promised, voice soft but firm.

  


“So, I’ve said what I had to say, and now we’re all going to go to our marks, and await the signal to begin. Trust in each other, and trust your training and your instincts. Now go get suited up!” she cheered, trying to instill some enthusiasm, pleased to see them cheer at her energy, running off to make their final preparations.

  


Edelgard, however, did not leave. “Professor,” she called, stepping forward, at a polite speaking distance. “I was hoping to discuss our strategies and fall-backs a final time before we left. Hubert knows to prepare my gear, so may I speak to you in private?” she asks, perfectly reasonable and utterly unsuspicious.  
  
She knew what would happen once they were alone, though. So when she simply nodded, it was clear that she understood, Blythe having to fight the flush trying to creep onto her cheeks.

They made their way into her captain’s tent. It was still strange to have one for her specifically; normally it was Jeralt’s prerogative. It felt wrong, especially since she had no one to share it with.

“What is it, Edelgard?” she asked, closing the flap behind them.

As had become Edelgard’s way, she said nothing. Delicately, she ran a pale finger along the line of her jaw before gripping it, turning her head to make her stare into her eyes.  
  
“We can do this, Blythe,” she said softly, a hand at her waist pulling her closer, never breaking eye contact.

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmured nuzzling into her neck. “You will make him see; I know you will.”  
  
Blythe sighed helplessly, her body loosening at her caring touch. “E-El…” she gasped, holding her tight. “I’m the one who should be giving you a rousing speech, not the other way around…” she murmured, kissing the crown of her head softly.

  


Edelgard sighed softly, melting into her hold. “I don’t need anything more than this,” she sighed, nuzzling further into her. “Just being close to you is better than any speech. I didn’t realize how hard I was fighting to resist you all this time…” she continued as she kissed her neck, making her gasp sharply.  
  
“E-El, we’re going onto the battlefield in less than an hour, let’s not start what we can’t finish,” she objected regretfully.

  


Gently, she broke their embrace, pulling back to stroke her cheeks softly. She was so pale, and beautiful…

She looked away, a light blush tinting her cheeks a beautiful pink. “You’re right, of course. I apologize. I just want to savor the time we have,” she said, a tired smile on her face.  
  
“We will, Edelgard. But business comes first, and we have some houses to smash, don’t we, Fortress Knight?” she challenged, giving her a sweet peck on the cheek. Edelgard smiled, a small titter of laughter escaping her.

“Yes, Professor,” she answered with a small smile on her face.  
  
“Wonderful,” Blythe replied. “Now, did you actually want to go over the troop arrangements, or were you just trying to get me alone?” she teased, knowing Edelgard never joked about such things.

  
  


The fight was bloody. Or, as bloody as mock battles with blunted weapons could get. It had started off dirty, and stayed dirty; Gronder was a huge, wide-open field. There wasn't any meaningful tree cover, and no room for trickery, much as she was sure Claude mourned the fact.  
  
It was simply a meat grinder. The tactics were basic, so much of the combat boiling down to accounting for troop movements and keeping a firm line.  
  
Luckily, Blythe had been focusing heavily on defensive stratagems since the Death Knight incidents, coupled with the strength of her front-line with Edelgard proving an immovable barrier when she was in her plate.

  


What really mattered, though, was keeping Byleth busy. She knew her Eagles could outlast the others, so long as Byleth didn’t break through them. That was why she’d made sure to give Edelgard all of their marching orders as she pushed out into the fray, hunting for her mark with a nose that knew exactly where that _cowardly_ brother of hers was hiding.  
  
She kept the Sword on her back, but she wielded a practice weapon same as the others. She was pleased when she managed to spot her brother seeming to try to scout a position for his Lions to fall back into a small copse of trees for cover that was being contested by a Deer contingent.

  


It was a solid plan, and if his Lions moved quickly enough they could get a foothold before the Deer could contest.

Though of course, she wouldn’t let him, she thought with vicious satisfaction.  
  


She saw the exact moment he smelled her, eyes whipping to hers, sharp and heated. She gave a polite wave, sword hanging lazily in her hand, the both of them as good as alone this far from the fray. “I’m not letting you do another thing more, brother!” she called, voice like steel.

“So what are you going to do about it?” she demanded, stomping forward with all the vitriol she had been restraining. “Are you going to run away again, with your tail between your legs?” she goaded, venom all but dripping from her tongue.

  


In any other circumstance, it probably shouldn’t have been satisfying to see her blade’s twin come shooting towards her with the precision of a sharpshooter’s arrow, but she relished the way it clanged against her own all the same. The bells in Garreg Mach’s cathedral couldn’t hold a candle to the sound. This was far clearer.

  


If she had had tactics at the front of her mind, she would have dodged and struck the shot in such a way that it would coil around her blade, but he would come to her regardless, she had seen to that with Dimitri, and she would finally have closure.

  


Was that what this was? Closure?

  


No. That’s what it would have been if her brother had had his way with it all. And perhaps once upon a time long, long ago, she would have been fine with it. But then, once upon a time, her brother hadn’t ever treated her like he wanted nothing to do with her.

He made his way across to her, closing the distance with the effortless grace of a stream in motion, but when their blades collided in earnest, it spoke of sparks on kindling. And with the promise of a forest fire, he looked into her eyes with fully slitted ones of his own — which were more beautiful than she knew he could see — and growled out, “Not after whatever you did to him.”

  


“Did what to whom? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied with as much feigned ignorance as she could muster.

He growled again like the animal he tried so hard to deny that he was, and her own feral smile crept onto her face. “Use your words, _Professor,_ ” she spat.

She stood still, dropping her training sword and instead unsheathing her half of the Sword, awaiting his response.  
  
“To Dimitri,” he spat finally. “You— _corrupted_ him, when he should not have anything to do with this.”  
  
She scoffed. “With ‘this?’ Or do you mean with you?” she demanded, slit eyes heated as she slid in for one of her classic opening gambits, sword swinging for his core, but prepared to pull back and stab at the first sign of defense; Byleth had blocked it a thousand times before.

  


And of course, he did, responding with his own standard response, attempting to step into her guard after the block to limit her options. As she leapt back to regain her ideal combat range, she kept talking. “You haven’t spoken to me in _weeks._ I was patient for you, I waited! I gave you all the time you could have needed, and instead you went on some fool’s errand in Abyss, and I had to find out through _Edelgard!_ ” she cried, swinging her sword in a vicious cross slash.

He blocked it, teeth grit. “That was my business,” he grunted, breaking their stalemate. 

“I was doing it for us,” he clarified as he continued to try to push into her guard and use his bulk against her. She danced aside, the only reason she didn’t leave a slash on his thigh was rote familiarity with this exact fight they were having, one they’d had a thousand times before, but which held so much weight this time.

  
“Then why wasn’t I _there,_ Byleth!?” she demanded, changing a step in their dance, continuing her pivot but instead aiming a spinning fist at his cheek, connecting soundly and making him stumble back. “ _Dragons? Mad plans to bleed people to death? I should have been there, Byleth!_ ” she cried in their shared tongue, furious, hands shaking with what she told herself was righteous anger.

He pulled back, the joints in his Sword rattling ominously. “ _Because I needed_ answers _first!_ ” he barked, swinging his sword and making its segments split and swing, an impossible stretch of distance covered.

It was only her prodigious flexibility that allowed her to lean back beneath it, hand at the floor. She rolled into his guard willingly this time, holding his sword-hand. “ _We_ had _them! We have elders who would have told you anything you wanted! Why can’t you trust them!?_ ” she demanded, her chest roiling with conflicted emotions. 

“ _Because they weren’t answers they were willing to give!_ ” Byleth shouted in response as his other hand began to crackle, the only hint she got as a bolt of lightning arced out for her.

  


Every student whose focus was on a spellcaster skill set for the mock battle had been given a dampener for their spells to avoid any lethalities in what should be a friendly test of skill, a precedent set in the earlier years of the academy following the untimely death of a student, but that didn’t mean her brother’s skill alone wasn’t strong enough to warrant enough to demand a second dose perhaps.

And if she had not ducked down, the shot would have struck true. But instead, it thundered over her and into a tree beyond, scaring one of the Deer out from a hiding spot now deemed to be too dangerous, and then it fell to the ground with a thud that was both too soft and too loud for it at once in her ringing ears.

“ _There’s something else they’re not telling us, and I couldn’t even find it in Abyss_ ,” he growled as he drove them apart once more, and Blythe readied herself for whatever he had planned.

No. She had waited long enough. It was her turn to be on the offensive.

  


“Who _cares!?_ ” she screeched, wielding the Sword artlessly, like a bat, crashing into Byleth’s guard. “So they don’t want to tell us everything, so what!? Do we need it all!? Do I need to know everything about you and Dimitri to know you want him!? I don’t know everything, but if it weren’t for my brother _avoiding me for weeks_ I’d be happy as can be!” she screamed, leaning over their crossed swords, teeth bared in a feral snarl.

“ _Stupid!_ ” she screamed in her tongue, breaking the stalemate only to swing again, their swords crashing together, “ _Stupid, stupid!_ ” she yelled, crashing into him over and over, her chest feeling like it was ready to burst. “ _Am I not good enough for you anymore!? Why are you running!? I’ll help you! I’ll protect you!”_ she screamed, grinding their swords together, that unnatural red-orange gleam glowing where their blades met. “ _I won’t let anyone hurt you! Don’t you trust me!? I’m your sister! Whatever I am, whatever I’ll become, that will never,_ **_ever_ ** _change!_ ” she screamed, her face contorted into a rictus of sorrow.

  


“ _Why are you running away from me...?”_ she choked finally, still holding their stalemate, but no longer pushing, just leaning forward with eyes trained on their locked swords, teeth grit and eyes pained.

She watched as his eyes contracted once before softening, seeming to find one of those answers he seemed to hold so dearly. “I was never running from you,” he said.

“ _Then why, Byleth!?”_ she demanded, dropping her sword outright, off-hand reaching for him but not touching. “ _I want to help, why won’t you let me help?_ ” she begged, hand clutching at air ineffectually. “ _I hate this, I hate this! You hate being a manakete, you won’t let anyone talk to you, so you just pretend nothing’s the matter, like what’s happening isn’t real, you don’t speak to me for weeks, how am I meant to respond to that?_ ” she demanded, looking so completely exhausted. Her shoulder slumped, her knees shook, but she still managed to look him in the eye. 

  


She could smell him, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to feel this urge to wrap herself around him, kiss his throat and soothe him. She wanted to be _angry_ , she wanted to hold onto her indignation, but she could already feel it fading away like smoke on the wind.

She never could stay mad at her brother.

He opened his mouth to speak again. “I was—” he started but was cut off by the sound of screams and casting that came before a guttural roar coming somewhere from beyond the treeline.

  


The both of them let their swords fall from one another, each holding them at the ready as they both searched the foliage, not seeing anything through the green except for the smoke from the spellfire.

Something was wrong. It felt wrong, _smelled_ wrong, and Blythe could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rising as she strained her ears to listen over the slowing sounds of battle as the others all did the same.

She and Byleth turned to look at one another before they took off in the direction of what they’d heard.

  


What came next was the deafening clarion call of a warhorn. No one had authorized warhorns for this mock battle, only flares. Whatever was happening, it was serious, and they weren’t alone. Their pace quickened.

When they broke through the treeline, horror gripped them both.  
  
Demonic beasts.

They were massive and numerous,attacking the fray, the lines having shattered utterly as some of the Golden Deer separated from the rest of their house in what they had probably meant to be the other half of a pincer attack struggled to make anything resembling a defensive front, ill-equipped as they were. To their knowledge, they were the only ones who had brought live steel.

  


And if any of the howls ringing out around them were any indication, these were not the only beasts on the field. She could hear some around where both the Lions and her Eagles had stationed their troops.

This was bad. This was extremely bad.

  


“ **_Don’t touch them!_ ** ” howled Blythe in an almost inhuman roar, sword gleaming. Two of the beasts actually turned to answer her call, massive things that dwarfed draft horses in size.  
  
To her infinite relief, the students who were focused on those beasts fell back to assist their classmates; Dimitri and Edelgard both were distracting beasts, a third running roughshod through what was once the Deer’s rear line. 

“Leave these to me, support the Deer!” Byleth barked back to his own, brooking no argument.  
  
She ran, sword at the ready, desperate to buy the Deer some space, some time, for — for _something_ to happen. They were weak, they were all too weak, either due to shoddy equipment or sorcerous dampeners there was no way they could break through this kind of a force. She needed to think of something, anything, to buy them time.  
  
With a snap of her wrist, the Sword broke into pieces as she lashed the huge, almost turtle-esque beast’s back; it did little more than scrape the thick plates on its back, but it seemed to give it some pause, even if it did not give its attention to her as of yet.

Somewhere beyond the beast’s place, she heard another scream ring out, this one carrying a name cried in horror and desperation, and then she saw a blunted axe bury its edge in the ground next to a pile of limbs with crimson slowly seeping into pink locks. The volley of arrows and spells that followed came too little, too late, though, as did the desperate attempts at healing.

Hilda was gone, and soon the rest of the Deer wouldn’t be far behind. And then the rest of them would follow.

  


She needed to bring them all together, marshal a full retreat. It was the only way they were going to make it out of this alive.

...No. They could do this again, do it better.

  


“Sothis!” she cried out, her voice seeming to unnaturally ring out in an echo that spanned through the crystalline heavens as time came to a standstill. She looked out and surveyed the world as ethereal motes danced around her, her heart saddening as she took it all in. There were the Deer in the small copse of trees in front of her, somewhere off in the distance, she could see the back line of her Eagles doing their best to hold their own against some ancient-looking direwolf with Hubert at the forefront.

And then, Byleth standing over one of the Lions’ casters and their archer before a beast with a metal muzzle could mow any more of them down. He seemed to relax in this still world, or at least let his sword arm go slack next to him, as he turned to face her.

“You did something like this before, right?” he asked, his voice carried over the distance with arcan clarity. “At the mock battle?”

“No,” Blythe replied, shaking her head. “Not me. Not entirely.”

“But it could be.”

Both of them turned to see Sothis, hovering in the space between. Her eyes turned to look at each of the beasts that had emerged out onto the field and then at what they had wrought. She looked almost sad in a way that was understandable and yet hard to place all at once.

“I cannot claim to know what these… _creatures_ are,” she began, spitting the word out as her eyes narrowed into slits, “nor where they come from, but it doesn’t take much observation to discern that they are a grave danger. It is time you learned to reverse such things on your own and amend them.”

“How?” Byleth asked, the look of someone lost written across his face as though he meant to ask more but didn’t even know what question to pose in order to get the answer.

“Reach forward and move it back,” Sothis replied as if something so cryptic would be clear to him.

But… Blythe almost understood, as if she had been given this very instruction before when loss had been something more trivial and far less permanent.

So she reached out and pulled back the hands of time once more…

...And found herself standing with her Eagles on the field before the starting horn had been blown.

  


The horrors had not yet descended upon them. She took a moment to orient herself, to look at each of them, to take in their faces and know each was still alive and breathing and let out one of her own, thankful to still have them all there with her.

She paused, though, as her eyes fell onto Monica where she stood with her hands gripped on her sword, still in its sheath. She hadn’t seen the girl in the fray, now that she thought about it, and while she didn’t like the girl, she tried not to jump to any conclusions. She had spent a year trapped in a cell, and she supposed that had to factor in for something for how her eyes darted around towards the directions where the other two houses stood going over their battle plans.

Byleth was likely thinking all of the same things she was. They needed to maneuver this somehow to ensure that everyone was in a safe position far away from the beasts before things began to degenerate again.  
  
But how?  
  
She frowned, staring at Monica, with her steady hands and her ability to disappear.  
  
She felt guilty admitting it, but she might perhaps dislike the girl, even. She was an interloper, not an Eagle. She felt none of the love she felt for her other students when it came to this pushy, falsely-cheerful woman, so intent on monopolizing Edelgard’s time like some asinine courtier.

She told herself that was why she didn’t like her, at least. She also stank. Like something rotting and covered in mushrooms somewhere in the deep darkness. Like an extant part of life. Like decay.

  


She’d watch her.

  


She pushed her Eagles forward cautiously, their formation ironclad as they saw the Deer and Lions approaching in the distance as well. She looked at the groupings, eyes scanning for _where_ those beasts could have come from.

They had all come out of the trees, she knew, but if they were there now, then they were waiting. But… waiting for what?

Before their second chance, nothing had happened until the groups all splintered. Could that have been what they sought? To pick them all off one by one? It was a solid strategy, sure, but not one that she felt a beast — even a pack of them — could formulate.

Byleth seemed to pick up on this as well, scanning the outer reaches of the field as the Lions now took a defensive formation that would better aid the group in deflecting attack on all sides.

How he saw it, she’ll never know, but suddenly Byleth fired that same bolt of lightning that he’d aimed at her at something that had lain hidden in the brush, and that was how it all began again.

But this time, they would do better.

  


It did not come over her like it did when she worked under Father. There was no blissful, warlike trance. She couldn’t allow it this time, couldn’t let herself get lost in her body’s song. She needed to be there for her children.  
  
She stood before even Edelgard, her vanguard, as the beasts crashed through the trees. The sight was as horrifying as before as they rushed out to butcher them all.

She tightened her grip on the Sword. “Hold position! Do not break formation!” she yelled, as three of the beasts came at them, who knew how many more still in the woods as the Houses were engaged properly.  
  


It was a deft dance. Edelgard was masterful, keeping one beast’s attention solely on her, her thick plate rendering her nearly impervious as she hacked at its claws and Bernadetta peppered it with arrows.

Ferdinand harried the other, dodging its strikes and trading focus with Petra, carefully focusing on its movements as Dorothea rained lightning down upon it.

Caspar had difficulty, it was true — he was built to deal damage, not take it — even a frontline fighter like him couldn’t hope to withstand the punishment it leveled at him even as he fought ferociously.  
  
But Linhardt and Hubert moved in a surprising tandem, Caspar’s wounds healing beneath Linhardt’s ministrations as Hubert did what was clearly his level best to kill the beast quickly.

Blythe’s heart soared to see the practiced teamwork her Eagles were showing around her as she herself pushed forward, cutting off a reinforcing beast on her own.  
  


She didn’t know how long she could hold it on her own, but she had to trust in her Eagles as she asked them to trust in her. She just had to last long enough for them to support her.

It was a brutally demanding trial. She saw glimpses of the other fights, everyone fighting against grim odds to deal any real damage with their blunted weaponry and numbed magic. She cursed internally. She was their best hope. She was strong, maybe even stronger than her brother, but even with the two of them truly armed, she had no idea how she’d kill the Eagles’ beasts, never mind the other houses’.  
  
It was taking all of her strength and skill just to forestall this one, never mind fight it, and her Eagles weren’t doing much better.

  


Her tactician’s mind could not lie to her. She saw how they were faring. They were doomed to die here. No plan she could fathom, no act of heroism could save them here. She could see yet more beasts coming out of the forest.  
  
It was simply numbers. They were doomed.

  
But even as that cold realization mocked her while she narrowly dodged another one of the beast’s swipes, she knew she couldn’t allow this.  
  
She couldn’t die here. She couldn’t let her children be hurt. Her skin was too tight over her skeleton, her nerves singing, blood _roaring_ through her veins, she moved with impossible focus and precision, mind and body honed down to a single shining purpose: Protect her Pack.

  


As if summoned by the pure singularity of her purpose, the tides turned.  
  
The Knights of Seiros, her Father’s new company rode into view at a hard gallop. Dozens, a hundred knights rode in like a killing wind, glorious and all-encompassing. Halberds, behorsed and impeccably trained rode forth, corralling the Beast into tight circles of horses harrying them into brutal submission.

  


The Knights were a trained fighting force, a standing army of highly trained warriors who served under the legendary Bladebreaker as their Knight Captain.

They tore through the beasts like a storm, Blythe deliriously thankful to run back to her students. They were all nursing wounds and clearly shaken by the unexpected attack and the truly dismal odds they were placed with due to their equipment. She needed to be with them and soothe them as was her duty as Pack leader.

  


As was her need as a mother.

She lost herself in a whirlwind of care, dedicatedly moving between each and every one of her Eagles to assess their wounds, giving words of support and encouragement and weak cure spells until she encountered the most _curious_ sight.  
  
Monica, unlike every other Eagle, was unharmed. A bit rumpled, but without a scratch on her.

She alone was completely unharmed, an almost impossible feat among the indiscriminate attacks of the beasts. Even Linhardt, far in his backline had sustained wounds.

  


Blythe said nothing, looking up into Monica’s opaque, glazed honey colored eyes as rot filled her nostrils. Monica smiled politely. “I’m alright, Professor. You can move on to the others,” she said sweetly.  
  
Blythe stood, staring at her with a carefully blank expression before she turned slowly away, returning to help Linhardt with his support as the Knights continued their efficient slaughter.

  


It wasn’t long before her students were healed, and the Beasts were dispatched. The groups had of course all congregated amongst each other, both for safety and to allow Manuela to tend to the more grievously wounded.

It took all of her force of will not to hold each one of them close, wrap them in some great blanket and let them all bask in each other’s scent and warmth, but it wasn’t the time. Also, her students would think she’d gone mad. 

All the same, she carefully watched over her students, her concerns with her brother firmly second in her mind to ensuring the safety of her children. It seemed she and her brother were of the same mind as they paced nervously among their groups with nothing to do but act like mother hens.

A few times their eyes met meaningfully, both knowing that a reckoning could not be postponed.

It would _have_ to wait, though. The Knight-Captain wished to speak to them, said a squire.

  


With a brief word to Edelgard for if anyone asked, she followed the squire as he went and fetched her brother as well and they were off to see their father.

When she saw him, she wasn’t surprised to see he looked exactly the same as he’d always looked for her whole life. “Oh, there you are,” he said, turning to address them both.

“Good job out there. I tell ya, when we saw the flare from where we were posted I had to do a double-take. _Rhea’s flare_? The hell are you even doing here?” he asked, obviously still energized from the battle.  
  
There was a moment of silence, neither twin sure who would be speaking. Finally, Blythe took the initiative. “It’s a large-scale mock battle for the students. If you were near enough to help, were there signs of Demonic Beasts? Why weren’t we told?” she asked, thoroughly confused. It was literally unthinkable to her that her father would miss a massive nest like that if he was on the prowl for signs.  
  
He shrugged. “They burrow, alright? If they’re too low there’s no telling where they are. Guess they dug up and decided yours was the day to ruin,” he answered lackadaisically. “Good thing Rhea told us to keep an eye out; there wasn’t a guard detachment beyond her honor guard, but we knew she’d be nearby, and we saw her signal. She’s probably gonna want to talk to you all.”  
  
“Y-yeah,” Blythe stuttered. She hadn’t even thought Rhea would be about, never mind have all these precautions in place.

  


She looked away despite herself. While the information was good, the tension between her and Byleth was cloying.

“So, all that junk out of the way,” he sighed, placing his hands behind his head. “Are you guys alright? How about your kids? I bet you were all right shitless, fighting those things with practice swords. Sounds like a nightmare. But you made it though, always do,” he said fondly, but Blythe didn’t miss the way he let out a breath as if he were relieved.

“The children are alright,” she said, the act of stating it helping to sooth her worried heart. “Byleth, are… _your_ students alright?” she attempted, offering a tentative olive branch.

“...Nothing a healing spell couldn’t fix thanks to the frontline,” he said, offering nothing else, and not meeting her eyes.

“I see,” she managed, feeling the inherent dismissal sharply. “That’s good.”  


  
Jeralt looked between the two of them quizzically. “...You kids alright?” he asked again, sincerity giving the question a different timbre.  
  
“...I found our mother,” Byleth said suddenly, making Jeralt stiffen sharply as if struck.

This was a surprise to Blythe as well. She had heard from Edelgard that there had been heavy intrigue at play and a clash with a terrible monster down in Abyss, but… in these past few months, family had come to mean something to her, and to hear that there had been more and directly related… Well, it just went to show her how fragile her heart truly was.  
  
There was a tense silence, broken only by Jeralt’s exhausted sigh. “So you finally found out, huh?” he asked, voice low. “Guess that’s my fault.”  
  
Jeralt walked a few steps, seating himself on a felled log. “If you know, there’s… I probably missed some stuff when I was out on missions, huh,” he managed.

  


Blythe could only nod. “...Yeah. You have.”  
  
Jeralt winced. “I… I don’t have a good defense for ya, kids. It’s hard to think about her, or… those times,” he murmured. “She was… she was unlike anyone I’d ever met.”

“What about her?” Byleth asked gently. 

“Just… I met her through Rhea. She and Sitri were having tea, and I had a report to give, and she… she charmed me.” He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. “She was always so frail, but… her heart was so big. She listened to all my stories no matter how stupid they were like she couldn’t get enough of them.”

  


“And how much… did you know about her family?” asked Blythe cautiously.

Jeralt snorted. “I know Rhea adopted her. And that they were of a kind, that way.”  
  
“What way is that?” she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“Fulla secrets. Like how Rhea’s blood gave me a crest,” he grunted. “Don’t ask me the details, I don’t know what’s going on with her and Seteth. I just knew they were special.” He took a moment to stare off into the distance, an unreadable look on his face.

  
“...And if you’re asking questions like that, I bet you inherited some of that too?” 

  


The twins nodded, almost shame-faced.

He gave a single huff of laughter. “Figured if I ignored it, it wouldn’t happen…” he sighed. “Stupid, I know, but it was pointless. I didn’t have any answers to give anyway. Was just hoping to pass the buck, so, thanks Rhea.”  
  
He leaned back on the log, staring up at the sky, or anywhere but at them. “And then you were born, and neither of you… Rhea said neither of you were breathing but that she could do something, but that it would be costly,” he explained, his fists tightening on his knees.

  


And then he let them loosen with a deep exhale. “And then when she brought you back out, it was without Sitri. We buried her up by the cathedral with both of you in diapers, and I couldn’t stop crying, but you two? You two never shed a tear,” he said, swallowing something down as if steeling himself. “After that, I knew I couldn’t risk keeping you in Garreg Mach. Too much was goin’ on, there were too many whispers about people coming for Rhea and anyone related to her. It was better if you just… fell off the face of the earth, for a while.”

Neither twin had much to say to that. Jeralt continued.  
  
“That’s why we never spent too much time in one place, and never took really big jobs. I didn’t want anyone to get your scent. It was for the best that everyone just thought I had gotten two kids somehow.”

The twins mulled that over quietly. It was more or less what they figured, but to have it expressed plainly was a strange realization all the same.

  


“Plus… I figured if your mom was watching over you, then I’d at least have managed to show her some of the world she’d always wanted to see,” Jeralt said in a dreamlike tone they’d never heard from him and a sad smile on his face. “So maybe she saw. Maybe she’s watching you two comin’ into yourselves and she’s smiling.”  
  
He looked at them both, eyes serious and demanding their attention. “Your mom loved you both. When she heard she’d be having twins, she cried the whole day she was so happy, talkin’ about how you’d both always have someone to talk to or play with,” he sighed, eyes hazy with recollection. “Always having someone to watch your back, and care for each other. She really believed it was for the best, that you being twins was a gift from the Goddess herself.”

  


He wiped his eyes. “I hope I was able to teach you both that was the case, that you could always trust each other.”  
  
Both Blythe and Byleth nodded their heads solemnly. He had, but they hadn’t been acting like it lately. A petulant part of Blythe wanted to say it wasn’t her fault, but it was never so simple to assign blame for such matters, and it was never healthy to do so. Jeralt had taught them that at a young age.

“Your mother always said that family was one of the most important things in the world. Love your family, no matter if that’s your sibling next to you or a bunch of snot-nosed noble brats you’re teaching, or whatever else,” he said sagely. “And you’ve done so well to know that. She’d be proud.”

He looked at them both, something behind his eyes shining through in a way that made Blythe’s heart hurt.

  


“You loved her,” Blythe breathed.

“More than life itself,” Jeralt said with a bitter laugh. “Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her. And I miss her, but I know she’s not gone. Not entirely.”

He cups their cheeks before ruffling their hair like he would do when they were smaller. A familiar gesture.

  


“I see her in your faces every day,” he said, his voice almost cracking. “Blythe, you have her eyes, her nose, and her beautiful smile, even if you also got my thick skull.”

Blythe’s chest ached. Even now, the specter of this woman she’d never met, this woman who had shaped her life before she’d even been born lived on inside her very skin. She didn’t know how she felt hearing her father’s words. It was as if she was reaping the benefits of another’s goodwill.

She was Blythe. That’s all she’d ever been or ever would be. She didn’t know her mother, and despite the love in her father’s eyes, there was nothing there for her to latch onto emotionally. Her father loved a stranger. Rhea and Seteth and Flayn all loved a stranger she had never met, and they all saw a ghost’s face atop her own.

She wasn’t sure she liked that.

Her infamously blank face proved a blessing in that moment, as she listened to him continue impassively. Though the glance her brother sent her way told her it would fool all but one.

  


“And Byleth,” Jeralt continued, bringing his eyes back to him, “you got her brilliant mind. She would have loved to sit and read with you and show you her favorites and where the best places to sit and curl up with them are.”

He pulled them both close then in a gesture that wasn’t common for him, but also not so rare that they wouldn’t treasure it for what it was.

“You’re good kids,” he murmured as if a fond secret. “Wherever your mom is, she loves you with all her heart. She’d be so proud of you, and so happy to see you grow up,” he continued, rough hands gripping them both tightly and pulling them tighter into their hug.

  


“But wherever that is, it ain’t here,” he murmured sadly. “So you need to stay by each other’s side, and give each other the love and care she’d wish for you.”  
  
Silently, both twins nodded at that, nuzzling into their father’s broad chest. “Okay, dad,” murmured Blythe, with gentle conviction. She leaned upwards, nuzzling into his neck, doing her best to memorize the scent her heart already knew to be home.

  


Freshly chopped wood, dry and clean, mixed with the thick scent of a forest in spring, verdant and healthy. A smell like fresh earth, thick and healthy between her fingers.

  
Her father smelled so indelibly alive, and for a brief, crazed moment she was so deliriously happy that he was still here with them, and not a ghost like her mother. “I love you, dad,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, her father making a soft _hrmph_ of surprised pleasure.

“...Love you too, kid. Both of you,” he all but whispered, before slowly pulling back to break their hug.

  


“As much as I’d like to catch up with you two properly, I’ve got some Beasts to look over, an Alois to listen to, and a bunch of other shit. So…” Jeralt deflated a bit, eyes going soft once more, a rueful smile on his face. “Just take care of each other while I’m gone doing Rhea’s dirty work, okay?”

  
Both twins nodded firmly, taking his words to heart as he began to walk off, hand raised to give them a final wave as he walked away.

The twins stood in silence as their father disappeared into the crowds, already barking orders as he marched along; he was in his element, behaving just as he always had when he led Jeralt’s Mercenaries.

  


“ _They didn’t bury her in the cemetery_ ,” Byleth said quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

Blythe’s head spun over to face her brother at the sudden break in the silence.

“ _He doesn’t know_ ,” Byleth said before she could ask.

Blythe’s eyes widened, cold dripping down her spine until she was rooted to the spot, understanding dawning on her as to what her brother had been doing all this time. 

“... _We’ll discuss this later_ ,” she whispered in turn.

They still had students to care for after all, and a ride back to finish off. They would unite all of the houses on the road, for safety.

  


And she’d take some of the Knights’ spare equipment, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	26. A Plot Takes Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students celebrate their triumphant survival over the Beasts. Claude spies, as he likes to.

Claude had been doing his best to keep quiet.

It was a good trait to have in his line of work, being unnoticeable. It meant that you were able to observe all you wanted without being seen. And, man, had he been doing _just_ that, and a lot of it, too.

It helped that Hilda was around most of the time. She was a walking attention magnet, so it wasn’t hard to be sneaky with his second in command stealing the show every waking moment of her life.

Abyss had been a proper font of information and an invaluable resource therein for how everyone there seemed to have their thumb in some rotten pie or other, and he’d been able to learn quite a few things he could put to use at the cost of a secret or two. None of his though, of course. He didn’t need anyone else beyond Yuri learning more about him than they should. It was safer to keep them just far enough away that he’d be safe but close enough that he could see them and monitor.

He was a survivor by trade, after all, and he intended to keep it that way. Part of being a good survivor was understanding _how_ and _why_ you survived, and he had a lot of thinking to do on that subject.

Like how in _blazes_ did those twins manage to sniff out those demonic beasts? He prided himself on his sharp eye; he was one of the best archers in all of Garreg Mach, and that wasn’t a boast, but Byleth had shot a lightning bolt into the one small copse of trees and summoned a damned _horde_ of Beasts. It was only his own quick thinking that had kept the Deer back in defensive positions mimicking the professors.

How did they know? Were they in on it? They got attacked just as badly as the Deer had, so it seemed rather unlikely, but that didn’t mean they lacked for insider information. So what had they known? 

He knew something was coming together; Sitri, Abyss, Rhea, the Demonic Beasts… they were all related now, and he knew it.

  
Once they finally returned to Garreg Mach, everyone was exhausted, and they’d gone to bed. From off in his distant corner, he watched the twins make meaningful eye contact, walking together back to their room more closely than he’d seen them do since they had come to the Monastery.

  
That was a clue too, he knew.

Claude made it to his room, carefully unearthing the journal he kept hidden under a loose slat beneath his bed. He had more information to add, and it was nearing the point where he’d need to leverage his sources if he was going to get more information.

He flipped it open, confident that even if he’s disturbed or the book is found that no one in Garreg Mach would be proficient enough in Almyran let alone code to decipher it as he goes through the pages as he reviews the contents therein. He’s gone through this journal countless times, but it’s rare that he’s felt the need to consult some of the earlier contents. Not that it was a bad thing; some things needed to be discounted while other facts needed consolidating. This was just standard book-keeping.

But, man, did it really seem like bullshit right in the moment.

He didn’t know what he didn’t know, and that was more irritating than anything he could name because it meant he didn’t even know where to _start_.

Well, no. He knew where to start when things got… nebulous. It was a matter of reviewing the basics: What were the “facts,” and what were the questions?

Hm, in regards to the professors, he would have to start moving some of the former into the latter. He could try to start with a likely chronology of events that may or may not be true and sort them as he went.

Let’s see… Jeralt Eisner had been Captain of the Knights of Seiros before they’d been born, that much was evident, but Claude had been unable to find a record of when he got the position or how long ago or who had held it previously.

Further, somewhere in his illustrious career with no dates, he’d met one nun named Sitri. No surname. Just Sitri, who had been of such a weak constitution that Rhea had kept her safe at the monastery, unable to go outside. He imagined she might have had to fight just to go to the market at the gates. No records of any illnesses on her, though, even if the dates could line up with the plague that had ravaged Fódlan a bit less than two decades ago.

But then, if it _had_ been plague, there would have been a lot more recorded deaths at Garreg Mach. Claude found himself very thankful for Almyran medicine, inoculation in particular.

Jeralt and Sitri’s marriage is documented in Church records, a detail that Claude is thankful for because it’s probably the only concrete piece of information he can get complete with a date and everything.

Then there’s the Sitri’s grave, also with a date, but after that, everything turns to speculation. There are no birth records of any children between the two, no, but there is a fire that takes out Garreg Mach’s stables and a fair amount of the reception hall.

And the Knight-Captain disappears, only to be found all these years later with two twins in tow.

It’s remarkable. They’re practically ghosts, his mercenary company before his surprise reinstatement as Knight-Captain was small, competent and completely forgettable. A sterling record from what he’d managed to pull up, and yet with no major contracts to their name.

And then, by sheer, stupid chance, he and his two kids the famous Ashen Demons are dragged to Garreg Mach and its nest of vipers.

But that was an unrelated gripe of his. Or he wished it was. Fódlan was very mum with details or information about a lot of things, and he noticed a lot of things that were perfectly normal in Almyra were outright outlawed here from useful things like oil to the downright bizarre like opera glasses.

Not to mention all the books he’d been able to find in Abyss’s library. Though, the most interesting tome he’d found had been one that had been old and tattered, the leather cover all but dried out and from a pelt of an animal he couldn’t recognize, and inside a language he’d been working on deconstructing.

He hadn’t been able to discern much of anything yet, but from what he _could_ , it seemed to be a story of some sort like he would hear in traditional theater with old gods and long journeys on the sea.

Seemed perfectly normal if not mundane, so he had to wonder what it was doing in a place like Abyss. And that made the mystery all the more tantalizing.

But he’d work more on his hobby later. He had an actual mystery to solve.

Even if it wasn’t _his_ to solve.

For now, he would look into what he had learned about Rhea and what her hand had touched, and he was sure he would learn something about the professors therein.

He wouldn’t let whatever was going on in this damn monastery catch him off guard; nothing had beaten him yet and he had no intention of letting that streak stop now.

He sighed, changing into his night clothes. Tomorrow was likely going to be an interesting day; he would need to be on top of his game, since he doubted Rhea was going to cancel the feast. A bit of fun, schmoozing, and tradecraft: it would be a fun night.

  
  


And so far, it had been. The day itself’d been boring; all three classes had a missive nailed to their door notifying of a celebration of their glorious battle in the cafeteria and nearby environs, clearly in Seteth’s hand. The man had a distinctive way of speaking.

At least that meant everyone was on the same page there.

The banquet following the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was always something of a formal affair, if he recalled correctly. Not that it was the most formal event of the year or anything, that honor belonged to the winter ball, but he had to admit that no small part of him was excited to get dressed up and play the part. Everyone else would be, too, after all, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like seeing it.

Especially considering this year’s attendance.

He should probably examine his behavior and think better of it, but he couldn’t help but loiter about the lawn that ran adjacent to the commoners’ dorms. Though he supposed it shouldn’t seem all that odd, considering there were flower beds and benches and the like clearly meant for someone to linger or rest here. No one would haul him off to the dungeons for making use of the amenities.

And if that meant he got to observe the professors through their open door, then that was just a coincidence. They were the ones who wanted the breeze, after all.

He didn’t think too hard about how his eyes sharpened like he was on the hunt, staring at the two of them. Blythe sat on a chair in the center of the room, Byleth behind her with a hair brush. And to his immense delight, their voices were clear enough that he could make out what they were saying.  
  
“I don’t understand your hair, Blythe,” Byleth complained. “You never do anything with it, but it’s so full,” he complained as he brushed it, Blythe’s face carefully blank, without a wince in sight. He must have been good at brushing. Or her scalp was just that tough from how they both had lived, and he wasn’t sure which one seemed more likely. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be both, though.  
  
“I don’t know what to tell you, By. I wash my hair every two or three days, some soap or whatever you’ve left lying around, and my hair seems fine, more or less. Then I just make it behave with my fingers or a hair brush if I’m at home.”  
  
Byleth wrinkled his nose, clearly displeased but accepting her answer. Huh, that’s… a lot less than he’d figured for her. He didn’t know what, but she was just so striking, it was weird to think her appearance was such a non-issue for her.  
  
Though, he supposed it made sense. She was a mercenary, and had been her whole life. Beauty wasn’t something she had any reason to care about, especially when she was so naturally fetching.

And then there was Byleth… Claude’s eyes trained back on him and his gently pursed lips as he brushed out a particularly stubborn knot in Blythe’s hair, his eyes sharp and focused like he was in the middle of battle.

The man was gorgeous; there really wasn’t another word for it. Clean, gleaming skin, flawlessly cut hair and personal hygiene, clothing always clean and well-kempt, he was the antithesis of the endearingly grubby sister he was obviously grooming for her sake for the feast.

They were both beautiful, and somehow parts of the same whole in a way he never actually believed twins could be for one another. His heart gave a stupid lurch as he looked at them both. Their eyes all but shone in the afternoon light. Even from here he could feel their gravity pulling him in.

Why hadn’t they chosen him? He was smart, funny, nice… he could be… bah, that was a foolish line of thought. They made their decisions, even if they were the wrong ones. Besides, he still had the chance to charm them tonight, and whenever he had lessons with Blythe.

  
That was one of the best deals he’d ever made and he didn’t care who knew it.

He looked at them, as his heart refused to behave. Their casual touches, the way they spoke with each other without fear, joking about how the students were probably going to get drunk and rowdy, and…

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to replace Byleth or Blythe in this picture. Brushing Blythe’s hair, murmuring compliments in her ear and savoring how soft her skin was… or maybe he’d rather have Byleth’s hands running through his hair, being complimented by his smooth, soft voice…

Or maybe he just wanted the both of them above him, running their hands over him possessively the way he saw them do with their students...

“Hey, Byleth…” Blythe murmured, more softly. “Did you get to… did you see any picture of Sitri, or… anything, down there..?” she asked with an uncommon shyness to her voice.

Oh.

Without realizing, he leaned forward, intent, roused from some thoughts he’d really need to assess more carefully later.

“...Yes,” Byleth managed, the slight strain in his voice proving him a bit uncomfortable.  
  
“Did she look like me, like Father said...?” she asked, nervously pulling at her hair in a gesture he hadn’t seen before. She looked down and away in a manner that was so different from the usually unflappable, dignified woman.

“... A bit. Her hair was longer, straighter. You have the same eyes, so there’s a resemblance, but you’re not the same,” he said softly.

“Oh,” Blythe breathed, letting the lock fall from her fingers as she let her eyes drop as if thinking.

“Do you—should I cut my hair, do you think?” she asked suddenly, shocking Claude enough he didn’t pay attention to Byleth’s reaction. “It’s just… I’m a soldier, and… I’m probably setting a bad example for the children, and-”  
  
“You’re not Sitri, Blythe. No one thinks you are,” Claude said definitively, his legs having pulled him to their door without his knowledge or permission.  
  
He looked at them as they jolted, eyes locking onto his almost guiltily, fearful.

“Uh—” he stuttered, confused as to how he got where he was, before mastering himself. “S-sorry. I… couldn’t help but overhear,” he said, embarrassed.  
  
“Claude..?” breathed Blythe softly. “What do you mean by that?”

He stepped from his awkward position leaning into the door frame to fill it properly, coughing into his hand.  
  
“No one would confuse you with Sitri,” he said again. “I saw her. You look a bit alike, sure, but I look kinda like Cyril and no one’s gonna get us mixed up. Maybe. But that’s besides the point ,” he said, finding confidence in his own words.  
  
“Anybody who knew you both would tell at a glance you took after your dad more than your mom, bright eyes or not,” he said with a surprising amount of conviction, watching Byleth’s eyes dilate as they looked into his, making those thoughts from earlier come back to him in full force.  
  
“Claude is correct,” Byleth said, stepping around the chair and coming closer to him, his eyes glinting unnaturally. “It seems he knows you quite well,” he murmured fondly as he stepped right into his personal space, his back hitting the open door as Byleth leaned forward, breathing him in audibly.

“You’re right, Blythe,” he called, still so very, very close. “He does smell good.” This was around the time Claude’s brain simply stopped working outright.

“He does, but be nice,” she chided gently, standing up. “We don’t want to scare him off, do we?” she added, almost coyly as she stepped closer, heels clicking along. 

Blythe was in his space now, pressing up against him to breathe in the smell of him as well. “So what are you doing here, Claude? I’m assuming you didn’t pop up just to give me an opinion on how I wear my hair,” she teased, voice low.

Sucked that his brain was still in the process of waking up from whatever spell he’d just fallen under. 

Oh, stars, oh, Goddess, he had a beautiful twin at either shoulder he hoped were interested in him and he couldn’t say he was eavesdropping or thinking dirty things! He had to come up with an explanation and his mind was splattered against a wall somewhere...

“Perhaps he was here to see me,” Byleth hummed, voice smooth and reverberating down into the pit of his stomach.

“You, brother?” she asked, neither of them moving from their positions _literally pressed against him with the door open_ before she turned to look him in the eye, they both did. “About what?”  
  
“So who did you come to see, Claude?” Byleth asked, voice like chocolate, wrapped in silk, in a velvet glove, or _whatever._ He didn’t even have the presence of mind to make a good simile.

“Could I, ah, get some space please?” he all but begged, voice higher than he would’ve liked, body craned and stretched to get as much breathing room as possible.  
  
As if a switch had been flipped, they stepped away as one, precisely at their usual conversational distance.

“What in the world…” he muttered as he took a moment, slumping with exhaustion.  
  
“I was… I had… I had a good reason, but then you two just… did _that,_ ” he finally managed, making Byleth chuckle.

Oh no, that was a nice sound too.

“Anyway,” he said, fighting to reclaim his _thoroughly_ tattered composure. “I wanted to come by and talk to you about yesterday,” he said, embarrassingly pleased to see their eyes grow serious, and not looking at him with that innocent interest that was practically mocking him with how desirable it made them look.

“What about yesterday?” asked Byleth, crossing his arms slowly, the picture of dignity.  
  
“The beasts. How’d you know?” he asked, voice tightening as he sobered up once more and his poise returned to him, his archer’s eye watching for the slightest tell. “You sent that bolt. You held defensive positions when any other tactician would have started spreading units to claim territory, but you both just… stayed tight, like you were waiting for it.”.

He didn’t ask if they knew — they both knew the truth of that — the real question was how and why.

The silence dragged on, and he was beginning to worry something was seriously amiss when Blythe finally spoke.  
  
“Jeralt,” she volunteered, Byleth turning to look at her as well. “It was Jeralt’s doing. He sent us a letter, stating that he was going to be in the area, and might stop by to say hello.”  
  
He quirked his eyebrow, beginning to see what that implied, but playing dumb intentionally. “What’s that got to do with Demonic Beasts and military tactics?”  
  
“The Knights have been traveling on the hunt for Beasts regularly. Where they go, Beasts tend to be,” she explained, hands spread, gesticulating as she spoke. “We both read the letter, and I suppose we both had the same bad feeling. The trees were suspicious,” she said, her voice speeding up as she spoke.  
  
“Unfortunately, we were right,” Byleth stated with a nod. “We did not have the time or the numbers to safely check the woods, but we knew the Knights were nearby. We trusted that if we held the line long enough, they would come to our rescue, and they did.”  
  
Claude nearly cursed. It was just plausible enough that he couldn’t call their bluff, and he knew it was a bluff. He could call them out on why they’d read a letter like that and decided out onto the field anyway without expressing their concerns to the Archbishop, but it was clear they weren’t going to share.

He frowned, and he made sure they saw it. “That’s plausible. Thanks for answering my question, you two. Those Beasts, huh? Scary!” he said, laughing jovially. “Don’t you worry, I’m gonna do lots of research to figure out what’s going on with those things!”  
  
He looked them both in the eyes, from Byleth to Blythe. “ _Lots_ more. Anyway, I’ll see you two at the banquet, alright?” he stated cheerily, waving as he walked out the door.  
  
Byleth seemed like he was about to reach for him before pulling himself back. “We hope to see you, Claude,” he said instead, voice unusually subdued.  
  
And once he was out of earshot and out of sight, his frown grew thunderous. He’d have to get Hilda involved in this mess. He’d meant it all as a threat, but he really did have a lot of work to do.

He sighed. No wine for him, tonight.

  
  


The sunset over Garreg Mach was particularly resplendent that evening. The grounds were painted in bright reds, oranges, and yellows, shadows shifting slowly around the pond and cafeteria, which had been converted by he could only assume to be Cyril to make it a bit more fitting for a celebration.

Torches sat unlit in strategic locations, waiting for the sun’s fall, crates moved aside in favor of humble tables. It wasn’t much, but it made a difference in Claude’s humble opinion.

The doors to the cafeteria were still closed, a small crowd forming in front of it, Dimitri and Edelgard at the head of the pack.

“Hey, nerds,” he called, waving as he stepped towards the other House leaders.

“Claude,” Edelgard stated simply. “I admit I’d figured you would be one of the first here.”  
  
“Nah, gotta be fashionably late to big parties like this,” he joked as he sized her up, and then Dimitri next to her.

She looked good. They both did.

“I suppose that’s two points in your favor,” Dimitri said with a polite laugh. “Though I think it best to only pursue one.”

“A shame you fail to claim the other, then,” Edelgard said as she pressed a wine glass to her lips, and Claude had to stop himself from snorting right there.

This was a social event, though, and he would mind his manners. Almost. They’d all been deprived of a good fight, after all.

Claude smirked. “Go easy on him, Edie. He doesn’t know he’s a hopeless case.”

“I fail to see how I am ‘hopeless,’” Dimitri said with a slight furrow to his brow, and Claude can only _tsk_ conspiratorially to Edelgard next to him.

“It’s almost sad to watch,” Edelgard sighed.

That grimace Dimitri was wearing deepens a bit out of what was likely confusion, if Claude were to guess. “What is?”

“If you have to ask, then I’m afraid you are beyond help,” Edelgard replied as she brushed her hair off her shoulder.

“Beyond yours, anyway,” Claude said. “There’s only one person who can help him now.” He paused, thinking. “That, and more booze, maybe.”

“I doubt public intoxication will help anyone,” Dimitri said, the look on his face replaced with one of disgust. Or as much as the prince would let himself show, anyway. If he’d gotten any of the lectures Claude had growing up, then he knew that one misplaced facial expression could offend the wrong person.

“I don’t see the harm,” Edelgard said in a voice that Claude could tell she was hiding something behind her words. “It couldn’t make your form any more sloppy.”

Claude was so glad he hadn’t gotten a drink for himself because he would have ruined a dress robe or two right there.

“Dang, no need to come after him like that, Edelgard!” Claude said happily. “I didn’t peg you for a mean drunk.”  
  
Edelgard gave a polite sniff in return. “I assure you, if all it took was a single glass to make me a ‘mean drunk’ as you put it, _you’d_ know, Claude,” she said, taking another sip of her red.

Claude laughed loudly. “Oh, you’ve got teeth tonight, your Highness!” he teased. He turned on Dimitri now, resplendent in royal Faerghus blue.  
  
He was probably the only one who could still claim to be dressed for battle. Despite the artful cut of his outfit in Lion Blue and the silk of his cape, he still wore greaves and a light breastplate, polished to a mirror sheen. Claude never would understand the Kingdom, or anyone that far north for that matter.  
  
“Any plans for the night, Your Other Highness?” he asked cheekily. “Find anybody to talk to?”

As much as he enjoyed ribbing Dimitri, as he was certain his entire House did if not the entire Academy, he still held a certain affection for the man, so innocent of his own feelings.  
  
Though, if he didn’t hurry, Claude might gobble up the Professor before he did, if the signals he’d been receiving from both twins were any indication.

“Merely enjoying the good spirits, I suppose. Though the battle of the Eagle and Lion did not go as planned, there is no less a cause for celebration,” Dimitri said sagely, as if he were quoting some aged tome.

“Sure thing, Grandpa Blaiddyd,” he joked, patting him on the back. And, because he’s a good-for-nothing troublemaker he went on to say, “Your hands’re looking awfully empty! Let me get you a drink,” before traipsing off down by the pond to where a few attendants circuited the pool, grabbing a stein of something that smelled strong for him.  
  
When he came back, Claude had fun elbowing jauntily into the conversation Edelgard and Dimitri were having about… ooh, about the Professors! “Here, Dimitri, some ammo for your quiver,” he said, shoving the drink into his fumbling hands.

Dimitri looked pretty surprised and puzzled, something that Claude noticed was common when he was around, though he supposed that was more his fault than the prince’s, what with it being on purpose and all. But Edelgard surprised _him_ with a bit of color on her own cheeks that he suspected might not just be from the drink.

“So, what’s this I hear about the Professors?” he said, eyebrow quirked in a rakish look he’d practiced many times before. 

“The Professor clearly had a better grasp of the situation,” Dimitri stressed as he held onto his stein. “He did, after all, fire the first shot that enraged the beasts.”  
  
“And yet my Teacher was the one who fought most bravely!” Edelgard countered as the doors opened to admit the crowd, not that these two would notice for a while yet. “She had nearly defeated a Beast single-handed before the Knights arrived,” she stated definitively without room for argument.  
  
“Oooh, she’s got a point, Dimitri,” Claude called with no evidence for or against it like the shit-stirrer he was.  
  
“Well the Professor was defending the students with all his might!” he challenged, cheeks burning without any alcoholic assistance, a trait Their Highnesses seemed to share. “He diverted no less than three blows that may have struck me, calling out orders all the while!”

  
Edelgard’s smirk was answer enough. “And us Eagles had no need for such heroic actions because we only had three beasts to deal with. Teacher fought like her nom de guerre. It was a sight to behold,” she said, just a touch too admiring.

She thought she was being sneaky with the Professor, but he wasn’t some two-bit spy, he was Claude, and he had eyes everywhere. Which meant so did everyone else, and people were probably going to leverage that information against them sometime soon.

He refused to let his displeasure at that show on his face. “Oooh, which is better? To see your crush performing superhuman feats of athleticism, or being saved by them personally?” he asked, revelling in how both of them blushed and called, “ _Crushes!?_ ” in near perfect unison, making him burst out laughing.  
  
“Honestly, you two are too easy!” he said, a happy smile on his face. “Now come on, I bet the Professors are both indoors with the rest of the crowd if you want to thank them properly,” he said as he led them into the impressively spruced-up cafeteria, which truly looked more like a hall for once with all the House colors and pennants adorning the walls and rafters. Though he imagined that if there had been an actual fight that the winner’s would be the sole decor.

It seemed all the drinks to be found were outside, with heartier fare displayed on the central tables and enough seating space for all of the students still off to the sides. He could see Manuela, Blythe, and Byleth all seated beneath their respective banners, hung above what was obviously meant to be the House seating, if the obviously colored tablecloths were any indication.

The star of the show was Archbishop Rhea, though, seated on a podium at the back of the hall in front of where the line-up usually was, waiting patiently, he assumed, for everyone to take their seats. As was Seteth, though there was no sign of Flayn. Geeze, he hoped the girl was okay. He hadn’t heard anything about her since Lysithea said she woke up and they ate some pastries together.

The other students all started to file in, though, each House gathered at their own tables in a show of pride. Looking at each that entered, Claude had to admit that everyone looked good in their finery — even Lorenz, but he’d deny this vehemently if pressed, and he’d take it to his hopefully immediate grave — and it had him looking forward to the winter ball. But that was some ways off still, so he’d take what he could get here and now.

A flash of pink caught his attention as Hilda slid onto the bench next to him, and though he’d never let it show, Claude had been taken somewhat by surprise. He half expected her to make a scene as she entered, but he also knew that was an insult to her intelligence. She could be quiet if she chose to be, and when she did, it usually meant that she was up to no good.

But then neither was he, so in that way, they fit perfectly.

They made eye contact, their faces carefully neutral save for the smiles they wore, and nodded as someone clinked a glass to gather the room’s attention and they waited for Rhea to step up to the pulpit.

“Students and faculty of Garreg Mach,” intoned the Archbishop, as if it were a high holiday. Points for commitment, he had to give.  
  
“I thank you all for joining us on this joyous but unexpected occasion,” she called, looking radiant despite being in a closed room. “This year’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion did not go as planned, to a shameful degree on our part, I am sorry to say,” she continued, face shifting just perfectly to express professional regret and sorrow without seeming overwrought. She really was a world-class thespian.

“Our students were attacked by a great and terrible number of demonic beasts, hidden cleverly in wait for victims. And victims they would have had, were they not the students and faculty of the Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy!” she called sonorously. 

She let silence fill the room for one, two moments, just long enough to let the weight of her statement sink in. “In a defense the Blade-Breaker himself called prodigious, the students and faculty survived a pitched onslaught by the Beasts for just shy of an hour with blunted weapons and muted mages, a challenging feat for even his fully-blooded Knights!” she called, letting joy seep into her voice.  
  
“When I first caught wind of the impossible attack, my heart seized with terror. But then, by the Goddess’s grace, not only did my beloved students survive the attack, but proved themselves one of the finest crops of warriors in this academy’s history!” she continued, gesturing to each House in turn.

She took out her haymaker: the beatific smile. “The pride I feel for each and every one of you — students and faculty all — is without limit. I am so deeply thankful you are all safe, so strong, and capable of protecting yourselves.”  
  


“But all the same, it was our failure that allowed such a terrible danger to befall you, our beloved students. I can offer no defense. It was only by the grace of the Knights of Seiros that you are all safe, and for this I apologize, from the bottom of my heart,” she bowed for affect, hands clasped at her midsection before she pulled back up. “We can only pledge to do better for you all, in this changing world we live in, and so we shall."  
  
“But these trappings are not fit for an apology,” she stage-whispered, as if she were considering it, finger at her cheek, lost in thought. And so, she opened her arms wide. “Which is why I entreat you all: eat, drink, and be merry! You have all more than earned it after your incredible trial, so much more demanding than even the battle of Eagle and Lion!” she called, and for some reason, he got a whiff of ash, or maybe woodsmoke that made him really feel like he could go for a bite about then.  
  


A cheer came over the room, students and teachers alike eager to get to the appetizing spreads. Rhea clapped her hands, and the floodgates were opened, a party’s atmosphere appearing as if from nothing at all.

Despite himself, Claude found himself clapping. Say what you would about the Archbishop, but she knew how to work a crowd. She managed to admit her wrongdoings and then divert them expertly. He’d have to ask her for pointers someday.

He watched as the crowd began to separate, everyone treating themselves to all the different dishes — Claude imagined the kitchen staff had likely been working on some of these for at least a week — and the drinks, for those students who were old enough to, though Claude could only think of maybe two or three whom that applied to. They all were served fruit juice in place of anything fermented, and Claude helped himself to a glass or stein or three that looked passable. Couldn’t have anyone wondering why he wasn’t drinking at a party, after all. Nothing clandestine there, as far as his appearance was concerned.

For some time, he walked around and mingled with the other students and some of the monastery’s other residents who were attending, flitting in and out of the groups and listening for anything that might seem worthwhile when his right hand fell into step with him.

“I’m not getting, like, anything,” Hilda said at a normal volume, and while a lesser courtier might have admonished her for it, Claude found that speaking too softly often warranted more suspicion that shouting brazenly to a discerning observer. After all, whispering was a bit obvious that you were hiding something you didn’t want someone else to hear. “I mean, everyone’s talking about stuff that doesn’t even matter. Did they all forget about yesterday?”

“Not likely, but a lot of these kids are from more _polite_ families, and they only know how to work these events from specific examples,” Claude said, swirling the sparkling red grape juice in the goblet he had plucked from a servant’s platter. “The alcohol’s probably not gonna help, either.”

“You don’t know that. It could make loose lips,” Hilda replied, cocking her head in a way that anyone who looked at them would misconstrue as a different kind of conversation. Manipulation of body language was key in court intrigue, and it was one that the two of them fortunately were smart enough to have in their skill sets. It made it harder for someone else to make a play. “You know what they say about those and ships.”

Claude shrugged, taking a sip from the goblet. “It’s more likely to make people talk about stuff a few layers deeper than that. You know, baser stuff. Not that it’s not useful, but it’s not what we’re looking for.”

“And what _are_ we looking for?” Hilda asked, placing a hand on her hip in a way that might have intimidated a lesser man who didn’t know her better. A hidden blessing for a taller woman, he supposed. It didn’t bother him that she had to look down at him just a bit from where she stood. He knew he wasn’t tall, but he also knew he wasn’t quite short, either. He was somewhere in the middle, which was also a blessing in itself, as it meant he didn’t — pardon the unfortunate play on words — _stand out_ in a crowd, one way or another. It was one feature people would forget about him if he chose to move unseen.

He looked across the room then, paying attention to who was talking and where… and with whom.

There, in the corner of the dining hall closer to the doorway that led to the reception area, stood Edelgard and Monica.

“Hilda, what do you know about Monica?” he asked, tapping his finger against the side of his goblet.

She followed his eyes to where the two girls stood, less covert in their dealings than they ought if they were actually hiding anything. “Hm…” Hilda murmured, pursing her lips. “I’m starting to think I don’t know much about her at all. She seemed so anxious last year before she disappeared, and now she’s so… cheery.”

“Cheery?” Claude repeated, cocking his head. “Seems a bit weird for being held captive for a year.”

“Yeah, something’s not right with that,” Hilda said, twirling a strand of her hair. “Like, I just feel like if I were to be held hostage for a whole year, I’d need to talk to someone about it? Like see a professional? But here she is making friends like nothing happened. And I mean, maybe she’s trying to forget about it and deal with it her own way, but I’m just getting all these weird vibes, right?”

“Right,” Claude said as if he knew anything about _vibes_ or whatever. “Say, Hilds, why don’t you see if she could use another _friend?_ ”

Hilda, to his satisfaction, nodded, seeming to catch the meaning behind his words. “Yeah, maybe she could use the support.”

Then the two of them waved a small farewell as if releasing the other to mingle elsewhere, and Claude left Hilda to her task. He would hear from her later. In the meantime, he would need to do his own work. It wasn’t right to leave it all to everyone else, after all, and it wouldn’t do for him to be empty-handed after she did any legwork.

He looked out over the hall once more, taking a head count of everyone still in attendance, and found most everyone still there save for a small handful. He didn’t see either of the twins, and that intrigued him more than any of the groups and pairs strewn about.

A cursory glance out at the area around the fish pond turned up precious few and no mops of teal, which left the gardens. A good place to sneak away to, he reasoned, the greenery would muffle the sound and provide more cover from peering eyes.

That, and he’d found them out there before. Old habits and all that.

He walked quietly, keeping his posture level to avoid suspicion from anyone who might have been looking. Crouching and sneaking was usually counterproductive, anyhow. Overexertion on being silent lent itself to making mistakes. It was better to simply “act natural.”

Rounding the corner of one of the hedges, he saw something that made him stand a bit closer to the foliage. It seemed Dimitri had ended up taking his advice whether he’d wanted to or not, a different stein in his hand than what Claude had handed him earlier, though he strongly suspected there had been a few in the middle for how the boy seemed a bit flush.

Though, considering he stood somewhere in Byleth’s orbit, he couldn’t say the alcohol was the only reason.

Dimitri laughed then, probably at something the two had been discussing that Claude hadn’t heard, and said, “Perhaps it’s because I lack your tactical mindset, but I’m not sure that would work as well as you imagine, Professor.”

Byleth shrugged more noticeably than Claude had ever seen him do, but he’d chalk that up to the glass in his hand. “Maybe not, but I’d still want to try,” he said, an ever so slight slur to his words. “I have enough faith in your strength.”

“Even so,” Dimitri said, stuttering a bit over his words as his flushed deepened minutely, “I would worry for your safety. Launching anyone off the grip of a lance could hurt you— hurt _them_ in a number of ways.”

“I’d still want to try it at least once,” Byleth all but grumbled and then drowned whatever other complaint that might have followed it in the contents of his beverage.

“All the same, I would prefer if you didn’t suffer any harm on my doing,” Dimitri said, and then, almost inaudibly, added, “or on my behalf.”

Byleth lowered his glass and made eye contact with him once more, however unsteady as it might have been. “Dimitri,” he said, and Claude didn’t miss how the prince’s eyes seemed to shine with something unsaid like he was anticipating something that he didn’t dare ask for like the hopeless sap he was.

“Yes, Professor?”

“There’s no way you could hurt me badly enough to break me,” Byleth said, blunt and dry.

Dimitri’s eyes widened and he blinked before he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a genuine laugh — something Claude didn’t think he’d heard escape from him before. “I have to disagree with you there as well, Professor,” Dimitri said once what probably constituted a fit for him had died down. “I could snap you like a twig.”

“Maybe.”

“No, I could,” Dimitri replied, then his face softened. “I never would, though. I’ve… I’ve come to cherish our time too much.”

Byleth looked back at him with an expression that was soft and yet inscrutable both at once. “I have as well,” he said in a voice that almost sounded sober. “I’m glad to have selected your house if only for that.”

And with that, the spell was broken and Claude needed to look away.

It stung more than Claude wanted to admit, least of all to himself. Both of the professors were people he prized, admired, but no matter how much he deluded himself or pushed it down and locked it away, the fact would remain. He was inadequate in their eyes, and no amount of special lessons or surprise drop-ins would change that. They hadn’t chosen him.

There was a loud shout followed by a crash on the other side of the hedges then, and it gave all three men a jolt, causing Claude to stiffen and hide further behind his cover as the professor and the prince jumped even further away from one another.

Raphael and Caspar came into view, both of them stumbling back up to their feet, whatever antic that had sent them careening into the bushes having passed as a rather concerned Ignatz emerged from the glow of the dining hall followed by a rather blasé-looking Linhardt.

“Goodness, I told you this would end like it did,” Ignatz said with no small amount of worry tingeing his voice. “But it could have been so much worse.”

“Nothing I couldn’t fix,” Linhardt replied, somehow looking both more tired than his typical general state of being and more awake at the same time. Alcohol sure had wildly varying effects. “Fun to watch, though.”

Claude felt it best to take his leave there lest he run the risk of being caught, even if he could play it off as concern rather easily. But he didn’t know how long his acting skills would hold up after what he’d heard. Mercifully at least, the hedges were alive with whispers tonight, and he was sure he could find better gossip than what was not his business being a passive awareness.

He crept through the garden hedges, as stealthily as he could manage. He doubted he’d end up with a repeat of the last time he’d snuck around at a party, catching a glimpse of Blythe and Edelgard necking like oversexed teenagers, but caution was rarely unwarranted. He could do without dealing with embroiling himself further in the twins’ romantic exploits. He’d had enough of that already.

With ears trained, he heard it, though: the murmur of conversation, through a hedge wall. People want to be protected by walls when they’re speaking in private, hiding near them, but hedges aren't walls, merely plants.

He pressed his ear up against the hedge.

They weren’t whispering, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Blythe was talking, and talking, but he had no idea what was being said. It sounded a bit like that twin code Jeralt mentioned all that time ago, but Byleth was… unquestionably occupied and Jeralt said he didn’t know it, so who…?  
  
He was quickly disabused of that notion when he heard the voice of the Archbishop, speaking in that twin’s cant expertly and leading him to the conclusion that their language was no cant at all.

The Archbishop had no business speaking with them in that language, and he cursed himself. Despite how impossible it was to penetrate it, it still seemed strangely familiar, as if he’d dealt with something similar before. He sat by the hedge, listening to them speak, mind working feverishly trying to glean some meaning from the mysterious conversations.

It struck like a lightning bolt: _Agarthans_. Spoken in the middle of a sentence but clear as a bell.

_Agarthans_ , Rhea said: a word he knew from his research into that strange tome and that cipher he was beginning to think might very well be a full-fledged language. Agarthans… why would they be using that word now?

It was obvious that there was only one topic that was worth talking about today, and that was the Demonic Beast attack. For all of the weaselling the three of them had been up to, there could only be one explanation, and that was that Agarthans had something to do with the attack somehow.

Whoever these Agarthans were, they potentially wanted the entire Officer’s Academy class put down. That meant they were his enemy and everyone else’s, and a dangerous one at that.

He’d need to see what he could figure out. Quietly, he stood, leaving his hiding place and meandering back to the party with an affected sway, as if he’d had a bit too much to drink. It was for the best if everyone just thought he was being his usual irresponsible self.

By the time he’d made it back to the pond, he’d grabbed himself another flute of grape juice, playing the happy fool. A few more minutes of waiting, and Blythe came back alone without any sign of Rhea; she’d likely taken the chance to bow out. With her address given, it wasn't like there was anything actually for her here.

He spent a few minutes watching her without watching her, appreciating some of the gowns and capes on display as she slowly pushed into the party once more, claiming a flute of proper wine. 

He’d probably doomed Manuela to ending up blind drunk since he couldn’t babysit her, but it was a price to pay to figure out the mystery surrounding the twins.

He stood up, leaving his half-drunk grape juice behind, swaying away as subtly as he could.

How did Rhea know that language of theirs? There were still so many holes in the story. He didn’t think he’d have to use this card, but the stakes were raising, and he couldn’t afford to be blindsided again.

To no one’s surprise, the graveyard was empty, everyone either asleep, partying, or finding a less macabre place to lay hands on one another. He stepped down the stairs, towards a specific rock he’d taken pains to memorize the placement of, pressing it down forcefully.  
  
Stones ground, and before long he was walking down dark stairs.

Abyss was much as he’d left it: dingy, dirty and reeking of desperation like only the best underbellies did. Dressed as he was, there was no doubt he’d been noticed, but it’s not like anyone would mention it unless coin or loyalty was involved; honor among thieves was the only law that mattered in places like this, and that meant you didn’t exist unless someone had coin to make it so.  
  
He stopped in front of the first beggar he saw, and pulled out a shiny crown. “Okay, I’m in a rush, so here’s how this is gonna work: one Crown if you can tell me if Yuri’s here, another if you can tell me where,” he said, palming them both and making them appear between his knuckles as if by magic.  
  
The grubby woman was not impressed, but he didn’t care. “He’s here. In his chambers, off the Ashen Wolves classroom,” she said, sharp eyes looking at his clenched fist distrustfully.  
  
“Thanks,” was all he said as he placed the coins into her hand, standing up to continue his search.

He wondered what Yuri planned for the old classroom; they’d all been “graduated” as Rhea so politely put it, so what was next? He had a sneaking suspicion for Yuri at least. Like recognized like.  
  
Which is why he wasn’t even slightly surprised when Yuri was waiting in the Ashen Wolves classroom, leaning against the teacher’s desk.  
  
“I hear you’re looking for me, _Your Highness,”_ he said, just loud enough to make him turn his head and confirm no one was nearby. “Or would you prefer Your Grace? I’m never too sure with these things.”  
  
“No, I’m down here instead of at a fancy party because I like the atmosphere,” he deadpanned. “Look, no games, alright? I have a proposition,” he said, eyes sharp and blank as he stepped towards Yuri, door closed and locked behind them.  
  
“Oh, no games? My, my, this must be serious then since we usually have _so much_ fun,” he lilted, leaning his chin on his fist and fluttering his alarmingly long eyelashes.

“It is. And I’m willing to make it worth your while,” he said, already regretting the noose he just wrapped around his neck.”You interested?”  
  
Yuri sighed, put upon. “You know, I’m a pretty busy guy these days, right?” he bemoaned, shrugging with open arms.  
  
“I’m sure you can make time,” he said pitilessly. “Especially since Byleth’s involved.”  
  
Now Yuri’s eyes sharpened in turn: blank and opaque, the color all but leaching from his eyes.  
  
“...Alright, then. Talk.”  
  
“I need you to find something out for me,” he explained, one dead-eyed stare meeting another. “I’ve found some records in Abyss, but nothing substantive. I need to know who the ‘Agarthans’ are. Rhea knows about them, from what I heard tonight, but I doubt anybody else who isn’t close to her does.”  
  
He stretched, in a calculated gesture of ease. “And since Rhea doesn’t want to share, it probably has something to do with the professors. But I bet you knew that already,” he said, giving the other spy a half-nod.

Yuri said nothing, simply grasping his chin, eyes unreadable. “...And this has to do with the Beast attack as well?” he asked, sharp as he hoped an agent for something as important as this would be.  
  
“No proof yet, but I’d bet money,” he answered, hopping up onto one of the desks. “Look, you know who I am, and so my agenda should be transparent to you. What do you say?” he asked, eyes still cold and flat.

“...And I can name my price?” Yuri asked, pulling up from his leisurely lean, prowling up to him with a feline gait.  
  
“...Yes,” he said, the word torn out of him like a rotten tooth. “If I can make it happen, I will.”  
  
“I think I can work with that,” he purred, eyes no longer flat and dangerous. He reached a hand forward. “One question, though,” he added, before reaching his hand out. “...How did By look up there?” he asked, voice suddenly conversational.

  
Claude paused, before smiling ruefully and grabbing the other man’s hand at the forearm: a thief’s shake. “... _Byleth_ looked amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as ever! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and as ever any who are interested are more than welcome to come join us in our Discord! You can find us here: https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm 
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	27. Through Murk and Remire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that happened at Remire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for this chapter is "The Shrouded Village"/"The Closed Off Village" from the FF7CC OST. Have fun!

Jeralt had seen ugly.

A long career as a blade for hire had shown him that, horrors of war and all, but nothing quite matched the things he saw when he served the Church. Or still sees, he supposed. Couldn’t quite escape those shackles, no matter how carefully he carried the ball and chain while he ran. If nothing else, Rhea was an effective jailer, and she didn’t need her dungeon. She could make an open horizon feel like a cell.

But that was in the past, what had happened had already happened. Wasn’t anything he could do about it now, but he digressed.

He hadn’t really noticed just how much ugly he saw until he’d become a sellsword after making his disappearance in the smoke. He wasn’t sure how much he thought he would see once he started taking jobs for noble coin, but it was probably more than what he ended up seeing. In hindsight, he should have expected it all to be predictable for the most part; sods in power only dropped gold or silver into his hands if there was some profit to be made be it monetary or as a power play. Greedy shits always wanted more, and there was always some idiot in the way that they wanted dead.

The Knights, though. The Knights saw all kinds of awful. They always got called in during major power struggles, any shift in political power above the gentry, especially where it concerned the Church. ...Or where Rhea said it concerned the Church, anyway.

The stuff that really got to him, though, the stuff that kept him awake at night, were the assignments he got where there seemed to be no one involved. Not even the Church.

Remire was starting to turn into one of those jobs.

He’d gotten a bad feeling from the village when he and his kids had stopped there all those months ago. They’d been on the way to the Kingdom and had stopped there when they realized they’d be in the denser woodlands after dark if they’d kept on, so they’d all decided to set up camp there rather than press their luck.

When they all stepped into the inn, though — after Byleth had insisted they at least make use of the available amenities while they were around any civilization at all — he sensed that it felt… off somehow. It seemed too sleepy for a place that remote, too lax, like the people there didn’t feel as though they needed to prepare for the winter that could come later, their too-wide smiles not seeming to reach their eyes. The shadows seemed to be too deep, and he often felt like he could see things shifting in them that would still or vanish when he would look at them.

It didn’t sit well with him, and rather than stay in the room his son and daughter bought, he ended up pitching a tent with the rest of his men, content to share their ale and fire rather than spend one minute more than he had to inside the village’s walls.

The kids were always a little slower on the uptake for those sorts of tells. Byleth particularly could sniff a lie out at thirty paces, and Blythe could be persuasive when she wanted, and together they were a good negotiating team, but when it was just people being... _off_ like that, whether it was traumatized villagers after a mission or the persistent strangeness of Remire, they were less reliable.

He had been content to leave it all there, even at the cost he’d ended up paying.

He should have known it wouldn’t just stay there. 

In the recent months, the scouts had come back with reports that people in Remire had been going missing, which was worrying in its own right, but not enough to merit the attention of the Church, so Jeralt had simply filed them away, deciding Adrestia to be more than capable of handling its own problems.

It was when some of those missing people started to come back… wrong that he started paying more attention.

It had started out with small things, the people just showing back up at the gates with a sauntering gait that seemed to be more dreamy than shaken. Odd, but not unheard of in trauma victims, but they seemed to not have acknowledged that any time had passed. Or that anything had happened at all. And _that_ was what made him perk up and really read over the reports properly.

When asked how or why they disappeared, they would simply shake their heads and deny that anything had seemed remiss. He’d ended up grilling the scout who last came in with a report, making sure to have him explain how those people had looked at him that he felt like they hadn’t been looking into his eyes but rather something beyond, and then they would go back to sitting with their hands in their laps and stare back out at nothing with eyes unblinking.

It wasn’t right, but superstition without any evidence didn’t merit a deployment out of Garreg Mach, not when everyone was stretched thin as it was between the Western Church and the packs of demonic beasts that kept cropping up wherever it was most inconvenient, which was anywhere at all.

He was a hard-bitten man with nearly half a century of life with a sword in his hand, but even then, those Beasts were a truly demanding threat he’d never had to deal with before Rhea dragged him back into the fold. He’d had to train the Knights mercilessly to get them prepared to face those things with any success.

So, they’d left Remire well alone with all its aberrant anomalies.

It wasn’t until a woman had come to the monastery’s gates and had been brought up to the audience chamber with bandaged feet, sunken eyes, and the specter of a nightmare in her raspy voice claiming that some of their villagers had begun taking to the streets at night calling out to something in a tongue she didn’t recognize before they attempted to mutilate themselves with calloused hands and blunted fingernails that Jeralt truly began to commit himself to solving the problem of this increasingly-threatening town. Rhea herself made it clear that whatever was happening could not spread if at all possible, and on that matter at least he and the Archbishop agreed emphatically.

Something was wrong, and he felt vindicated for his caution that fateful night he’d spent in that goddess-forsaken village all those months ago, even if he wished he hadn’t been right. The following morning, he and his battalion would saddle up and make their way out.

He had to admit, though, that he had been surprised to see the Blue Lions already at the stables in the gray pre-dawn with the sleep mostly rubbed out of their eyes. Byleth had been teaching them well, it seemed, but he couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t the sort of job or place to send a kid. He knew that Rhea didn't care, though, and ride out they would.

Whatever the case, it’d at least be worthwhile to have one of his aces back under his command. Byleth was a capable second-in-command, and he trusted him to keep the brats safe.

It was all he could do but let his mind dwell on it as they rode in silence, and he wasn’t sure if he was comforted by it at all. He was used to Byleth’s quiet nature, but this was one of those times where he felt he could use the distraction. Or perhaps just the assurance that he wasn’t alone in his worries.

They headed south towards the Adrestian border, able to take the mountain passes that would allow a direct path before the first snowfall would seal them away and force them to take the long way ‘round.

It made him feel a little bad, honestly, as boots and horseshoes crunched across the morning frost. If they’d turned the woman away, then even a fortnight later, the response could have been delayed even further, and Remire would be resigned to whatever had set upon it. He hated to think of what they’d find in the spring thaw.

“Nerves?” came Byleth’s soft voice cutting through the silence with the same gentleness as his hand did through fog around them, the white parting only for the void to fill silently again.

Jeralt shook his head. He’d always tried to keep his feelings to himself when it came to his kids — didn’t want his ill-at-ease bleeding into them when he was supposed to be the rock they stood on while they were still growing into their own — so he swallowed it all down and gave him a smile he hoped came across as comforting. “Nah,” he said, trusting that it reached his eyes. “Just tired.”

Byleth had always been a good read on people, able to discern truth or falsehoods out of small changes in facial or body language, and the way he held his gaze on Jeralt told him that he was looking for any sort of hint then and there. Then, he blinked, releasing him finally in a way that made him want to sigh in relief. Almost, anyway. He wasn’t about to ruin his hard work there.

“For an early morning or in general?”

Ah, shit. He’d been found out. So he allowed himself to let out the sigh then. No point in hiding what Byleth had already uncovered. “A bit of both, I guess,” he sighed, putting a hand to the back of his neck as if to rub at some imagined pain there. Or a remembered one.

He looked back over at his son who had turned his attention back to the fog-hidden path ahead of them. “What about you? Anything getting to that busy brain of yours?”

Byleth hummed in lieu of a response, something he did when he was thinking and needed to buy a bit of time. “I… worry whenever we get these assignments from the Archbishop,” he said, his voice carefully low as if concerned for the company they kept, which Jeralt couldn’t fault him for. Some people joined the knights for their faith, after all.

He gave a hum of his own to let Byleth know he was listening. “Worry how?” he asked, encouraging him to continue.

The way Byleth turned his eyes to the ground, with all the stones and worn patches from travelers long since passed, told him that this went a bit deeper than the average worry for his son, not that he used the word “worry” lightly, if ever. If the word was even brought up, it indicated something occupied his mind more than he’d like for it to and that he’d like for it to stop. Jeralt had their horses pick up a little more to distance them from any prying eyes or ears.

“Whenever the Archbishop sends the Lions out on these… _her_ assignments,” Byleth said, and Jeralt couldn’t help but sympathize with the hint of vitriol there before he continued, “one of them ends up getting hurt.”

It hurt. It always did. His kids were his world, he’d started a fire and escaped off into the night with both of them so he could give them a life away from… not _her_ , but everything that came _with_ her and the Archbishopric.

He didn’t hold much love for the woman, but he knew she’d have done all she could for Sitri’s children. That just wasn’t enough, that was all.

He looked at his son, one of the shining stars that lit up his life, with whom he could never be anything but proud and thankful for, and the sadness in his eyes as he spoke of the pain of his students, his heart swelling.  
  
He had a good son with a good heart.

Byleth’s whole body perked up, though, and he knew immediately what that meant. “What’s going on, kid?” he asked, voice low and serious.  
  
“Smoke. Coming from Remire’s direction,” he murmured, voice stony and flat.

They were maybe a few miles out; he was worried something like this would happen. “Keep your kids on the rear-guard. I’ll get the Knights up to assess and set a perimeter. You’re reinforcements, got it?” he ordered, Byleth nodding the affirmative.  
  
“Men!” he barked, his captain’s voice carrying effortlessly. “There’s smoke! Increase pace, and get ready for trouble!” he called, the clanks of armored heads nodding music to his ears as the Knights spurred their horses on. He gave Byleth a final pat on the shoulder and rushed forward.

The air bit his cheeks and ears as he pushed his horse into a gallop. He knew what this was. It was gonna be hell in a handbasket, and he needed to put a muzzle on it, to make it so that Byleth’s kids weren’t hopelessly traumatized at the least. He needed to figure out what was going on, and show them that the world wasn’t the hell he knew it could be.

The gates of the village appeared on the horizon, plumes of smoke floating almost lazily above the buildings. When he made it in, it was as he feared: Burning buildings, screams, terrified villagers of all stripes huddling in the square as if it would protect them.  
  
He hated being right.

He took a breath. “The Knights of Seiros are here to help!” he yelled, more horses streaming in behind him, as the villagers looked up at him like he was some savior sent by the Goddess herself. Maybe he was, for all he knew, Goddess working in mysterious ways or some shit, but he already knew he couldn’t save all of them.

He fell into his role. He turned to one of his lieutenants. “Get the villagers somewhere safe, and set up a perimeter. I’ll set up some parties to push in and see what the fuck’s going on,” he said, already too stressed to hold his tongue. The man nodded, already calling to the villagers to come and follow him, to where some of his greener knights were falling into step and setting up a defensive line, as they were meant to in these kinds of situations.

He rode out, his usual suspects trailing behind him without orders. Not that there was any need to, this was textbook for them. It left him with making bigger decisions.

The town was burning, but there was no looting; that was the first thing he noticed. Fires burned, but no damage past that, no broken windows, no beaten-in doors, no evidence of breaking and entering. Only of rushing out to escape the blaze, but a few corpses in the street, to his disgust, showed mixed success in this. He could only wonder how many hadn’t even been able to get that far.  
  
It was when he found a woman, stumbling drunkenly through the street, knife in hand that the frost really coated his spine, and he began to realize what was going on.  
  
“Hey! You!” he called, voice authoritative, praying his gut was wrong. (It never was.) “What are you doing here? Are you okay?” he asked, sword already unsheathed, jumping off his horse, his boys at the ready, not that he needed it.  
  
Slowly she turned, staring dazedly past him, a line of drool down one side of her mouth. She moaned lowly, stumbling towards him, making him tense. Shit. There was blood all over her front. “Hey, stay back! Answer the question! What’re you doing here?” he demanded, sword at the ready as she ignored him, stumbling closer, the knife, he now noticed, stained with blood.

“Men! Suppress the villagers: stop, but don’t kill!” he cried, blocking her graceless stab easily, locking her arm and getting her to the ground, where she started howling like a banshee. He swore colorfully as he wrapped an arm around her throat, choking her until her struggles ceased.  
  
He looked at one of his men. “Take her back, but put her under guard. We don’t know what the fuck’s going on, and I’m not gonna have any foxes in my goddess-damned henhouse, got it?” he said, voice terse.  
  
“Got it, boss,” he said, picking the woman up and tossing her onto his horse’s flank after hog tying her. He jumped back on, heading off, passing Byleth on the way.  
  
He could already see it in his eyes: Byleth was tense and anxious. “What’s the situation, sir?” he asked, using the proper term for the situation, as he’d taught him back with the Mercenaries. 

Jeralt spat. “It’s not fuckin’ good, I’ll tell you that,” he grunted, climbing back onto his destrier. “Something’s wrong with at least some of the townspeople: they’re crazed, violent, killing each other. There’s no enemy force, just a bunch of crazy villagers.”

Byleth hissed something unintelligible, Rhea’s name in amongst it.

“Hey, if she didn’t send us here they’d _all_ be dead. I’m not happy either, but we’ve got a job to do, and I dunno about you, but I’m not a fan of letting people get killed by their neighbors,” Jeralt said, and Byleth seemed suitably chagrined at that, which he was traitorously proud of. It wasn’t often he had the high ground on his son. He was smart and didn’t let emotions get to him, but he didn’t let it get to his head.  
  
“Now come on, we’re looking for survivors, and we’re gonna handle anything we find. You with me, kid?” he asked, trying to put a positive spin on this hell.  
  
Byleth frowned. “The students are in two groups, sweeping the Eastern side of the village. Does that work?” he asked. Jeralt nodded. “That’s good. The villagers are addled, so it shouldn’t be too dangerous for them as long as you’ve taught them how to pull a punch. We’ll get back to them as soon as we clear this wing of the village, alright?”   
  
Byleth nodded, face stern and serious. Jeralt knew he cared a lot about his kids, more than he’d ever cared for any of the mercs, and he tried not to think about that too much, but he was happy he cared about someone other than him and Blythe. It wasn’t healthy to have his world be so small.

He felt a fool thinking about his child’s relationships in the middle of a village gone mad, but he was a father before anything else.

They fought their way through the street, mercifully keeping their swords clean for now. It was once they’d pushed further to what looked like the town hall past the square with a gallows standing grimly that more pieces came together. He pressed Byleth behind him, both of them huddling close to the wall as they observed what was happening.  
  
Two figures stood atop the gallows, seeming to argue viciously. He recognized one almost immediately: the Flame Emperor. He’d never seen them personally , only read the description in the reports, and he had to admit, he thought they’d be taller.  
  
“I _refuse_ to be involved in this, Solon. How does this help forge a new world!?” they demanded, hand cutting decisively to highlight their point.

The other figure was… frankly horrifying. Pale as chalk with an unnatural, bulging forehead and black eyes, this “Solon” barely seemed human.

“Your foolish notions have no bearing on my works. The experiment is going swimmingly. You should be happy,” he mocked with a disturbing smile on his face, arms widening expansively to encompass the town. “We are destabilizing the region, which will only make your plans go more smoothly.”  
  
“I never asked for this, Solon. I’m doing this to protect the innocents, to break down the systems that grind them into the dirt! To end the Crest system, and the Church’s stifling of progress! Driving the people of this village mad and having them slaughter each other is a horror, nothing more,” the Flame Emperor finished decisively, arms crossed. “I’ll have no part in this. If you expected my assistance against the Knights, then you are a fool.” 

Solon sighed, as if put-upon. He dismissed them with a vague gesture. “Do what you please, child. I have the information I need, so the remainder is irrelevant.”

The Emperor scoffed, disappearing in a swirl of magic and leaving Solon to survey the perimeter the Knights had set up. He chuckled to himself.

Jeralt turned to look at Byleth. “Well, looks like we found our mastermind,” he grunted. Byleth nodded wordlessly. “We can’t risk taking him on alone. Let’s fall back and get your kids in here to crack his head open, alright?”

As if on cue, there came, “Professor,” in a familiar tenor, and the two of them turned around to see the prince making his way through the rubble and ash to where they both stood in the shadow of a broken building.

He gave a small bow, one that Jeralt recognized in squires and some of the more rule-conscious knights that reported to him, while Byleth gave him a quick look-over, his shoulders relaxing at not seeing any red, something Jeralt could recall having done countless times with his own kids.

“What is it, Dimitri?” Byleth asked.

“We’ve rescued all the unafflicted villagers we could find and sent them away. What did you want us to do with… the others?” the prince said, his voice seeming to catch on something that was probably less distasteful than what his own tongue seemed to think.

“Take them and head back out front,” Jeralt said, before Byleth could open his mouth to ask. “We’ll set up a camp and treat their wounds as best as we can while we wait for a medic unit to arrive.”

The prince furrowed his brow. “What about the fires? Wouldn’t it be dangerous to camp too close to it?”

“The knights should already be digging a shallow trench around the perimeter to stem it,” Jeralt replied, waving him off. “The village will burn out, but at least nothing else will catch.”

Something darkened in the prince’s eyes then, but Jeralt didn’t think this was the place to address it. Nor was it his place at all. The Blue Lions and their prince weren’t his responsibility, nor his real priority, no matter what Rhea might insist. There were more pressing matters at hand like the village and the monster of a man that stood over it to admire his handiwork.

“If that’s what you think is best, Knight-Captain,” he said without much inflection in a way that might have made him worry if he hadn’t raised two kids who communicated exclusively in monotone. Or perhaps that’s why he should have worried.

But he wouldn’t have time to.

All around them from beyond where he could see, there rang out a cacophony of agonized screams followed by the sound of something… tearing, and that alone was enough to make Jeralt’s stomach drop. But then the ripping sounds turned to guttural growls, then snarls, and then finally new screams.

And if the horror dawning on Byleth’s face was anything to go by, they were ones he had hoped never to hear.

Well, he didn’t want to hear it either, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t tear his throat out. “Beasts. We gotta get out of here,” he grunted, frantically thinking of a route to get to safety and coming up blank.

“Alright, kids. We’re going straight through. The sooner we get back to the Knights the better our odds are,” he said straightening himself, sword at the ready.

“How ‘bout you, kid?” he asked the prince he’d saved so many months ago. “You ready for this?”  
  
Dimitri nodded, eyes dark. “I will not fail,” was all he said, lance in hand.  
  
A bit foreboding maybe, but he didn’t exactly have the pick of the litter right then.

Before he could waste more time wondering what was the kid’s deal, though, there was a crash, far too nearby, making them all tense, weapons in hand. Then, there was another crash, a massive, armored Beast smashing through the wooden house which had been their cover.

The beast howled through the strange cage-helm on its head, eyes gleaming red with drool dripping from its massive maw.  
  
“Shit. Fall back! We can’t take this thing in close quarters!” called Jeralt, shoving Byleth backwards as he faced the beast down.

“Come on, you bastard!” he called, standing to his full height, waving his off-hand to get the beast’s attention as, thank the Goddess, the kid listened and dragged the pretty boy off with him into the gallows square. He just needed to coax the thing out into the open… Whatever that Solon character was up to, he had to trust Byleth would make sure he didn’t get a spell to the back.

“Come on, ugly…” he murmured, posture now hunched and ready to jump in whatever direction he had to to get this thing out of the alley without him getting run over. It huffed, pawing at the ground in a way that frankly bothered him; it was such a normal gesture, an animal threatening, instead of the engine destruction he knew such a thing to be. He lunged quickly at its head, his sword bouncing off its helm with a clangour and dodging a massive paw, and then pulled back as the beast began to swing at him in earnest, trying to crush him under its bulk.

He may be old, but damn it he wasn’t gonna die to some overgrown bear or... whatever. He was going with bear. He ducked and weaved expertly as he continued to harry it, dodging backwards and trying to find a weak point in its bizarre cage helm. Experience taught him that trying to just stab the damned thing was a waste of time and that if he wanted to do anything alone he needed to go for vitals, and that meant cracking that cage.

Finally, though, he’d dragged it back into the square. From the corner of his eye he saw Byleth and the prince working to siege Solon’s position on the gallows, but Solon was just cackling as he threw bolts of darkness at them.

He’d like to ruminate more on who that freak was, but he still had a bear that wanted him dead. After a loud roar from the other one, it seemed like Byleth had been — _thrown?_ The prince had _thrown_ Byleth using his lance to flip him like a damned pancake onto the gallows where he was in Solon’s space.

With that done, though, the prince came to reinforce him, for which he was absurdly thankful.

“If we want this thing dead, we have to break its helmet!” he barked, deflecting one of its massive arms and quickly stabbing its paw on the downswing. 

The beast screeched in rage, completely focused on him despite the prince clearly angling to find a good position to run it through with his lance. Good. He didn’t know if the kid had what it took to make that shot, but he had to trust the kid wasn’t useless if By had been working with him.

Watching him move, though, Jeralt could see that there was something about him that spoke of experience, and he remembered there as he watched the lightning behind the blue of his eyes a tea he’d taken with his kids some months ago when Byleth had said that he’d killed before.

 _Dammit_. It was that kind of thinking that got people killed, he realized as the beast brought its paw down on him. He lifted his shield in time, but his distracting thoughts had cost him the precious second he’d needed to ensure he didn’t get sent staggering back.

He needed to be present here in this moment if he was going to come out of this with Byleth’s brat in tow. He dug his heel into the dirt of what had once been Remire’s main street, his boot finally catching on enough gravel that he was able to lunge back at the thing and its cage head. 

Hm. There was an idea.

Jeralt dodged another swipe and feinted to the side before slamming his shield square onto the metal, an ugly reverberating sound ringing out that hurt his ears and likely did much worse to the beast inside. What he’d give to know a blasted fire spell right then, but this would be enough on its own. He’d made his opening.

He pulled back his blade and readied the thrust that would strike through the beast’s skull when there came an almost frenzied shout as the prince leapt onto the thing’s back and drove his lance through the flesh between its shoulders. The beast howled and swiped weakly as if it would somehow stop the inevitable from coming before it stumbled a few steps forward and collapsed.

For a moment, all was still save for his own breath and the fire that danced across what remained of the village around them, and then the prince climbed down and wrested the lance from the hulking gray form, spilling crimson out into the dirt and ash. He stood over it then, and even though his back was turned, Jeralt could sense something dark in him if only for how white his knuckles were on the straining metal of his lance as the red began to drop down.

And then he started laughing.

It was quiet at first, and Jeralt could have missed it amid the crackling of the flames, but then it grew in volume and intensity until he was shaking. It rang out over the crumbling walls to the point that it drowned out the screams and crashing of spellfire in the struggles beyond.

“I see now,” the prince said after his laughter had died down. “I know what must be done.”

Jeralt didn’t know what to make of this, but he didn’t like where this was going.

But the prince kept going. “The ones responsible for this cannot be allowed to leave here. Not alive,” he said to no one except perhaps the sky, as if the Goddess were listening from the heavens. “Sever their limbs, crush their skulls! She will know her own.”

Jeralt had heard about the Tragedy. Mostly in bits and pieces, but he got the general gist of it and saw how Faerghus had changed as a result. It was a mess from the death of the royal family all the way through the genocide at Duscur. He’d kept the mercenaries away from the Kingdom that year, and witnessing what he was now, he couldn’t say he didn’t feel vindicated in his decision.

Byleth sure knew how to pick ‘em. What a nightmare.

He took a deep breath. “Kid, sit the _fuck_ down!” he roared, lacing as much threat as he could into his voice, making the boy jump. “You’re not in charge of this operation, _I am_ . You’re not in charge of _shit_ yet, and I’m fucking glad for it if this is what a bit of bloodshed does to you! Keep your damn mouth shut, before people hear how much of a lunatic you sound like!” he ordered, finger pressed roughly into his chest as he dressed him down as harshly as any new recruit with a habit they had to break immediately.

The sound of his voice seemed to pull him back, but not quite all the way, giving Jeralt a pang. He didn’t like being so rough, but he had to. His eyes still held that same darkness to them, but he couldn’t afford to let the kid crack. Maybe a harsh shock was the way to get him off whatever path his demons were pulling him down.

Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. Company had arrived.  
  
“ **Only the one chosen by the Goddess, yet two Eisners** ,” crooned the Death Knight, stepping out from one of the alleys behind the city hall astride his spectral destrier.

“Hnn! You take your time, Death Knight!” hissed Solon, who took his distraction to teleport directly behind the Death Knight as Byleth swung through the space where he had been before with the holy spinal cord Rhea called a Relic.

“ **I came, did I not**?” he jested with a lackadaisical shrug. Or at least it would have been if the guy wasn’t covered in more harsh edges and points than a morning star. “ **It is hardly as if you were in true danger**.”  
  
The veins in Solon’s disgusting head pulsed so hard he could make them out even from where he was thirty paces away. “Deal with them!” he ordered, voice thick with rage and imperious entitlement, though Jeralt suspected he meant someone specific as Byleth charged forward with his sword-whip to close the distance.

“Hear that, Your Highness? We’ve got work to do, so don’t break on me, alright?” he said, roughly but perhaps a bit more gently.

If the prince had heard him, he gave no indication he had outside of looking at the two figures atop the stone with that same dark look in his eye.  
  
Byleth still fought up on the gallows , dodging and parrying while trying to press for an opening, and he knew that he’d stay up there until they pulled the Knight over so they could use the height advantage.  
  
Three-on-one were great odds for anyone but the Death Knight. He’d had to fight him once before on an assignment and it’d been one of the hardest fights he’d ever had, and that was with Alois and the knights to back him up. He’d had to hole up in some podunk nowhere town for three days while a medic stitched him back together.  
  
“You know this one, right!?” he called back.  
  
The prince nodded, the dark husk that he had become only serving to worry Jeralt, but as long as he didn’t turn that lance against his son, then he’d ignore it. For now.

“So you know what he’s capable of,” Jeralt noted. “Don’t be stupid, or you’ll end up dead faster than you can blink.”  
  
“ **Jeralt Reus Eisner** … **the Knights’ lost lamb** , **returned to me again** ,” the Knight teased. “ **I admit, I see where your children learned their skills** , **though I had imagined you would be another fat Captain too good to keep his sword sharp**.” Then his shoulders loosened, even if only minutely. “ **I hope the three of you, at least, will have a chance of killing me** ,” he said, uncommonly morose.  
  
“Yeah, well, believe me I’d sooner skip all that, but I don’t think you’re gonna let us,” Jeralt sassed, casually stepping into a loose formation along the side of the gallows to give Byleth the best angle he could. 

The Knight chuffed. “ **No. Same rules as the first time, Knight-Captain. Your performance grades whether you live to see tomorrow** ,” he said, swinging his scythe back and forth in slow, limbering motions. Once he’d made it to the duelist's distance, he stopped in his approach, standing before them in a loose ready stance. “ **Your move**.”

Jeralt clenched his teeth, rushing forward with a shout, crashing his shield against the Knight, trying to find a clean moment to try and unhorse him.

He remembered fighting him last time. That armor was no joke even for how it seemed better suited to a costume party. They needed to pierce joints, or nothing, since they didn’t have a hammer to bash his chest in as he’d have preferred.

He hated every moment of this. Even with the kid on the other side distracting him, that scythe was a killing sliver of moonlight blurring between them, destrier fighting almost as competently as its master.  
  
Jeralt let himself lose ground, falling back to get him perpendicular to the gallows to let Byleth get at him where he couldn’t use his legs to dodge.  
  
“Any time now, kid!” he called, stress clear in his voice as the scythe bit into his chainmail, definitely breaking a few links as it pierced his forearm and drew blood. He cursed, trying to hook his scythe _into_ his mail, pulling with a sharp shove and praying it held as Dimitri leveled a savage swing.

There was a crash, but not as decisive as he’d have hoped as the Knight claimed his weapon back, taking a hunk of his shield arm’s mail with it, somehow shifting on his horse, legs hopping onto the saddle to minimize the strike’s damage before he easily kicked the kid away with probably a broken nose.

The Death Knight hopped onto the gallows with a dancer’s grace, scythe leveled like a rapier, giving Byleth a come-hither motion, making Jeralt’s blood boil. “Hey, asshole! I’m still here!” he yelled, giving the destrier a sound slap on the ass with the flat of his sword, sending it running Goddess knew where.

“ **Well, aware, Sir Jeralt!** ” called the Death Knight, dancing through Byleth’s definitely new techniques, blade slackening and going rigid to make his sword’s edge unpredictable, but regrettably useless against the Knight’s plate. He needed to go for the joints.  
  
Jeralt ran up to the kid, still nursing his nose, blood splattering his face. He grabbed his off-hand, dragging him back to his feet. “Rise and shine, kid! You want your teacher to fight that monster alone!?” he shouted, before taking a running jump onto the gallows to re-enter the fray. 

“High n’ low, By!” he called, one of their classic techniques. Just like in practice all those years ago, they got cutting. High and low, they alternated and synchronized seemingly randomly, the Knight whirling wildly and somehow managing to dodge every blow, blade singing against his shield and Byleth’s edge.  
  
He still had no idea who the Death Knight was, but the way he fought, he could very well have come from a story book. “Damn it, fall _down!_ ” he howled, a vicious swing parried expertly, to no avail.

“ **It will take more than this pathetic display, Knight-Captain**!” laughed the Death Knight, kicking him back with a well-placed heel to the groin from the opening he left with that swing. Jeralt could only curse under his breath as he gasped helplessly, the kid finally showing up to take his place while he mastered himself.

Aw, hell.

The kid was still out of it. He wasn’t fighting smart in the least, all savage swings and full-length stabs, desperate to just get the guy.

If they didn’t end this, and fast, that moron was gonna get himself killed. His mind was a blur. How could he end this? How could he put a stop to this before that damn fool got himself killed and broke his boy’s heart?  
  
He sighed, put-upon. He watched the fight continue, the Knight whirling as he waited for his chance.  
  
Cursing himself for the fool he was, he rushed him, shoulder down, roar deep in his chest, grabbing at the Knight’s hips, tackling him down off the gallows, and getting pierced by the Knight’s damnably sharp armor.  
  
Jeralt groaned in pain even as he frantically rolled off, the kid leaping with a bestial roar the Knight quickly parried before he got himself run through, lance piercing in what was probably — hells, three inches deep. Kid had an arm on him.

But praise be to the fucking Goddess, the Knight’s weapon betrayed him; the scythe’s hook along with the angle meant he couldn’t free it from the lance before Byleth had leapt too, sword ramming into his shoulder with a _crunch_ that was heaven to his ears. 

The Knight gave the first audible grunt of the fight, sounding like a beast as he tore the sword out of his shoulder, knocking the kid aside and pulling back to safety in two moves fewer than he had business managing.

“ **Hnn...** **graceless, but effective. You can’t argue with results** ,” the Knight offered, even giving a half-bow leading with his off-hand.  
  
“Yeah, save it, you fuckin’ weirdo,” Jeralt grunted, pulling himself up, knees aching from the landing. “So… we still doing this, or what?”  
  
Damn it. He wasn’t young anymore, even if he didn’t play it up. The man was a monster.  
  
“Professor!” called a voice from behind the Knight.  
  
Oh, thank anyone listening. Reinforcements. “You sure you wanna keep at this, big guy?” he asked, dreading his answer. 

The Knight only grunted, the shininess of his armor giving him away; By’d gotten his good arm, and blood was flowing freely. He couldn’t keep this up anymore.  
  
“ **Well-played. You will see me again** ,” he answered cryptically, hand raising so that with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into a swirl of smoke and magic, Jeralt’s entire body slumping with relief.  
  
“Fuck me… Byleth, deal with your kids, would you? Dad needs to sit down…” he mumbled, walking over to the gallows steps to take a seat.

He all but collapsed onto his ass, head falling into his hands.  
  
Damn… this was just supposed to be a clean investigation. Get Byleth, see the village, make sure it wasn’t on fire, go back. What the hell was going on these days? It seemed like wherever he went, the world was losing its mind. Twenty years as a merc wandering the continent and he didn’t recognize how his world was changing.

Goddess, but he was tired.  
  
He missed Sitri.

He remembered times like these where he’d have a close call — hell, sometimes even closer than this — and come back only to be rushed to the infirmary and she’d gasp and fuss over him, throwing down more spells and salves than any of the other healers had bothered. 

Even unto exhaustion. It wasn’t a rare sight to see Sitri collapsed on top of him, having burnt herself out in her rush to make him feel better. And then Rhea would always come by later, chiding Sitri and waving off his apologies.  
  
It had been his little secret that her sleeping on him had been his favorite part.  
  
Goddess, but he missed those days.

He looked off at By with his kids, watching him fuss nervously over Dimitri’s face, carefully running his hands over it, hands aglow with magical energy, mouth moving constantly like he almost never saw.

His heart felt a pang as he watched him surrounded by the other kids until he heard some movement next to him.

“Don’t be frightened, Sir Jeralt. It’s just me.”

Jeralt let out a sigh and let his shoulders sag back down in relief. “Mercedes,” he said, recognizing her from the few times she had come by with the red-haired girl bearing the fruits of various baking projects. “You all alright?”

“All thanks to you,” she replied with a soft smile. “I wish I could have done more, but I can help with your wounds at least.”  
  
“Well, I haven’t gotten Alois’s report, but it looks like you kids did fine; good job out there,” he said. He’d admit it, he was soft for the girl. Anyone who gave him pastries was okay in his book.

If he were in any better position to, he might have protested being given special treatment, but his ribcage was pulsing and all but demanding the help. He sighed and waved her over to where the pain was strongest, and she seemed to… light up, which he thought was odd enough to concern him, though in about the exact opposite way the prince did. Did the Blue Lion House just attract the oddballs, or was there something in Fhirdiad’s water…?

“You’re lucky the scythe didn’t get you,” Mercedes said, drawing him back out of his thoughts. “Especially any deeper than what you have.”

Jeralt hummed in reply. “You don’t get as old as me in this line of work without getting cut up worse than this,” he sighed as she continued. This time more softly she said, “I do wish I had been closer, though.”

“No, you don’t,” Jeralt replied. “He gets uglier up close, trust me. You don’t wanna be near him.”

“Oh, but I do,” Mercedes said, her eyes lighting up with an indiscernible determination. “There’s just… something familiar about him is all.”

Jeralt furrowed his brow at that, but before he could ask, she drew her hands back and patted the closed wound gently. “All done,” she said with a smile. “I better go take a look at the others. I know they can handle some minor burns and things, but it never hurts to have a second pair of eyes.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks, Mercedes,” he grunted. He did feel better. Still tired as anything though. 

He wondered if the prince could use a second set of eyes. Or if that would even help him. He’d been around for… a long time, and he had yet to meet a healer who could right the mind. Not with a simple healing spell, anyway.

Didn’t seem like that was going to stop Byleth, though.

It was an odd duality in his son, that. The boy liked his logic, preferred it even, always thought ahead and planned his movements in advance, but short of that, he was stubborn. If he couldn’t puzzle something out, he’d work at it until he _made_ it work. He’d gotten that from him, he guessed. It almost made him chuckle. A stubborn ass with a library’s worth of knowledge crammed into his head, and here he was trying to fix something with the wrong tool.

Kid was smarter than him. Was gonna surpass him soon, if he hadn’t already, even if he was an idiot in some areas.

No, he supposed that wasn’t something to laugh at. He’d told the boy not to break out there, but something else was going to break under those glowing fingertips, no matter how he tried to stop it. And that was going to break something else, he knew. If not now, then later.

It was just a matter of time.

He pushed himself up off his knees with a groan and walked over to where the two of them sat, Byleth crouched in front of the prince, and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, drawing his eyes.

“I think you’ve done enough, By,” he said, and then he gestured with his head over to a felled stone column. “Let’s sit for a minute while we wait for the medic corp.”

“But—” Byleth began, but Jeralt cut him off with a stern “ _Sit_. Your old man has some wisdom for you after his brush with death.”

His son listened, even if he was a bit petulant about it as he dragged himself over to sit next to him, and the two of them looked out at the Lions as they watched them all tend to their various scrapes and burns.

“They’re shaping up really well,” Jeralt said, sparing him a glance. “You did good.”

Byleth wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead fidgeting a bit with the straps of his gauntlet and the gravel under his boot. “Not good enough.”

“None of that,” Jeralt said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Look at all your brats. They were able to face down… all that shit, regroup, and come to reinforce without having to be told. And all while not sustaining any big injuries. You should be proud.”

“But Dimitri—”

“Enough about Dimitri. You’ve fussed over him enough,” Jeralt interrupted, biting back a groan or a sigh that he knew Byleth would read too far into. Instead, he squeezed his shoulder again, gently this time, to draw his eyes back to him. “Hey. You’re never gonna be able to do it all. That’s just life. There’s a lot of stuff at play that you’re not always gonna know about, but what matters is how you decide to respond to it. That kid’s got his demons, and you can try to help, but it’s up to him in the end. You can’t mother him to health that way.”

“Then what _can_ I do?” Byleth asked, looking and sounding more distraught than he’d ever seen him be all with a shaky shimmer in his eyes, and that was enough to make him worry… more than a little bit, he supposed.

Well… practice what you preach, he supposed.

“Just be there, kid,” Jeralt replied, giving him a pat on the back. “Show him that if he wants it, you’re right there. He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” he grabbed at his chin, stroking the scruff in a thoughtful gesture. “You’re leading by example, and I can tell the kid looks up to you, so you’re halfway there already.”  
  
He sighed again. “Kid… I’ve had mercs and knights who had demons. You wanna help ‘em, find that magic switch that ‘fixes’ them, but that switch doesn’t exist. You just… you need to be there, and encourage them to get the help they need, whether that’s from you or someone else. Do it right, and they’ll come for help and advice.”

He smirked despite himself, a glint in his eye. “Maybe in more ways than one, if the rumors I’ve heard about you two are worth anything. You never know—”

“Shut up!” Byleth hissed, giving him a sharp kick to the side of his leg that did little more than make him laugh. He’d take his fun where he could, even at his son’s expense. But only in good fun.

He sighed, his laughter dying down. “But no, really. You should say something, kid. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Byleth was quiet, deciding that the gravel was far more interesting. “...Maybe. One day.”

“I’m not going to be young forever, Byleth,” Jeralt replied softly, perhaps more serious than he’d originally intended. But it was the truth. He’d been around for… a long time, thanks to Rhea, but he didn’t know when the other shoe would fall. He couldn’t hold out forever — no one could — but he wanted to see both of his kids grown and happy before his age finally caught up to him.

He’d known Byleth to pout at jabs like this, but some part of him softened when Byleth just mumbled, “...When I’m ready.”  
  
He smiled ruefully. “Well, do it before I’m dead at least, okay?” he said, injecting some cheer into his voice, grinning as he gave his son a hard pat on the back. “Really. Love’s a beautiful thing, don’t make it wait,” he said a trifle gentler, rubbing Byleth’s back where he’d pat him.

Byleth said nothing, but leaned into the touch, a far-off look in his eye said that he was at least giving what he’d said some thought.  
  
“Listen, kiddo. I’ve got to go deal with Alois and my boys, so keep an eye on yours, and then we can head home, alright?” he said, standing up, stretching to crack his back. “Had about enough of this place.”

Byleth nodded, still lost in whatever thought had him in that deep.  
  
With that done, he turned, beginning the walk back to the perimeter, which he could see even from there was bustling with activity, Knights preparing a caravan, helping to pull valuables from any of the homes that survived and whatever else.  
  
Alois would be hard at work, and he would be too with the refugees, but hopefully they could be on the road before nightfall.  
  
The more ground he put between this hell and him the better.

Goddess knew it couldn’t get any worse from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! We had an unexpected death in the computer family. RIP in peace to xima's desktop hardware. o7
> 
> Anyway, someone's been listening to horror podcasts. Can you tell?
> 
> As always, if you wanna come talk to us about the fic (or anything, really), you can come join our discord server!  
> https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm  
> (Official disclaimer: It is an 18+ server)


	28. Dance Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins talk about difficult matters; they train Felix to dance, and reconcile.

When Father and Byleth came home, Blythe was unaccountably relieved, as ever. She had been certain that meant all was well, and there were no more issues for the time being.  
  
They were mercenaries one and all, hardened and competent, but if a life on the road fighting for coin had taught her anything, it was that even the good ones died, sometimes for seemingly no reason at all. So when Blythe had run to the gates as soon as she’d heard the call for knights returning, she was pleased to see the both of them — and the knights and students — all in one piece.

She greeted her family with a smile, politely greeting the students that said hello as well. What surprised her though, was how Byleth and Jeralt both got off their horses, along with Alois and some burly Knights, walking past her with only a nod hello, marching towards the library, walking surprisingly silently in their full plate, swords at their sides. 

No one explained what was going on, but Byleth looked at her and made one of those minute little gestures that she knew meant _follow_ , so she trailed behind them with curiosity quieting her steps as they entered the library to see that strange little man, the librarian Tomas, turn to them, a tremulous smile on his face.  
  
“Goodness, hello! I don’t normally see so many Knights in my humble library,” he tittered, clasping his hands obsequiously. Father turned to Byleth, who had stepped forward, eyes closed and… smelling.  
  
“Is this the guy?” Jeralt asked, tone dark and serious.

She almost missed the change in her brother’s eyes when he reopened them, for Byleth’s response was swift, stepping forward to grab at the man’s robes and throwing him stumbling into the arms of two of the Knights.

Tomas’s eyes goggled in surprise, and then in an instant heavy, etched manacles were on the man’s hands, an agonized cry leaving him as the man… _bubbled,_ for lack of a better term. His face seemed to slough off, skin going pale as his hairline receded even further, his flesh reforming somehow into a completely different face. The mousy librarian even gained a few inches before them, hateful eyes with black sclera staring Jeralt and Byleth down.  
  
“ _How?_ ” the man demanded, voice beastly and completely unlike it was.  
  
“Don’t answer that,” Jeralt answered more to Byleth than anyone and stared back at him, unimpressed. “So _you’re_ the spy. Small world, huh?” he said, voice low and sarcastic. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?” he couldn’t resist ribbing. Returning to his serious posture, he looked at an uncommonly stern Alois and his Knights. “You know what to do, Al. Get him down into the dungeons, deep as they go. Round the clock guards, plural, magical dampening, the works. I’m leaving it to you, okay?”

Alois nodded. “I won’t let you down,” was all he said, before turning to gesture as the Knights forcibly marched the man away, now stomping unapologetically.

Blythe stared at the both of them, moth parted in disbelief. “So… what the _hell_ was that?” she asked.

Jeralt snorted. “Dumb story. We’re gonna go debrief with Rhea, come with us,” Jeralt said, patting her on the shoulder as he fairly strutted off, leaving the twins and a few deeply confused students in his wake. 

The halls were quiet as they stepped through, the only sound their heels on the stone. Something about this seemed… off to Blythe in a way she couldn’t quite put it, but she felt that whatever Jeralt would say to Rhea wouldn’t provide her with enough explanation. He wouldn’t understand what her brother had _smelled_.

Byleth slowed his stride down then, allowing Jeralt to move a few paces ahead in a way that she could tell was meant for secrets. “ _...He was at Remire,_ ” was all her brother said in low tones, before he picked up his stride once more, gesturing for her to follow even as her feet stopped. 

Blythe’s head started to ache.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, but they’d ferreted out some barely-human spy, and who knew what else? She’d been excited to tell her brother about the White Heron Cup, but obviously that would have to wait a while…

Once she’d caught up to him back on the grounds, she tried to catch up. “ _So… what happened?_ ” she asked gently, awkwardly. They had still only recently begun to mend their relationship, and she didn’t want to make a misstep, a feeling she’d never experienced when talking to her brother.

“ _..._ _That man — Solon — and the Flame Emperor were in Remire, doing some kind of human experimentation on the villagers that made them go mad and transform into Beasts. The Emperor thought it evil and left, then the Death Knight showed, and we all fought him, and now Dimitri isn’t well_ _. It was hellish,”_ he explained with the sort of succinct precision she knew meant that what had happened was bothering him sincerely.

Blythe’s heart ached to hear it, her arms encircling Byleth and stopping them for a few moments as she gently nuzzled into his neck, pouring as much love as she could into the gesture. “ _I’m so sorry, brother,_ ” she murmured, holding him close as he awkwardly returned the hug, letting his head loll onto her shoulder. 

Byleth said nothing, simply breathing slowly, and steadily, his arms wrapped firmly but not tightly around her. She sighed, finding herself being the one soothed, to have her other half returned to her. “ _Let’s go and talk to Rhea. We’ll get some answers, and then I’ll help you however I can,_ ” she said decisively, pulling back to see her brother nod, mute.

Blythe took the front position, as was usually the case in public scenarios that required conversation. Besides, she knew Rhea better than he did. She could maybe get some answers. And maybe even explanations.

The walk to Rhea’s chambers was unusually quiet, likely, she assumed, because of their new “guest.” Father was waiting for them at Rhea’s door, and upon seeing them he knocked three times, heavily.

They stood in suspense, until Rhea’s calm voice carried through the door. “Enter.”  
  
And so they did. The incense burned, Rhea’s own scent hidden smartly within its smoky whorls, but she could tell the difference now.  
  
“Lady Rhea,” began Jeralt, “we have a prisoner, which you probably know already , and a report to give you.”  
  
Rhea nodded, face a mask of severe calm. “Yes. Seteth is dealing with him now ,” she turned to Byleth then, giving him a dignified nod of her head. “I must offer my thanks to Professor Byleth for his incredible capture. That man was a threat we had been aware of and unable to find for years,” she said, then with a sad sigh, “Tomas was an old friend. He served here for over forty years... I am sorry to know he was likely killed to serve the infiltrator’s purpose .”  
  
Byleth nodded, face as stoic as ever, and Blythe was happy that Rhea at least hadn’t tried to smile at him. It seemed she’d realized something about her just seemed to rub Byleth the wrong way.

“Well, Knight-Captain, I’m sure the prisoner will have much to tell us, but for now, let’s begin at the beginning,” she said seriously, scent muted.

Jeralt did, sparing no detail. Solon, the villagers with their madness, the Demonic Beasts and their human transformations, the Death Knight... The only thing she didn’t catch was whatever Byleth had been talking about with Dimitri. Perhaps he trusted Byleth to tell Rhea when the time was right? If at all.

She could smell the tension in Rhea’s scent, and later the blunt horror that the news was filling her with, lips moving silently as her eyes grew glassy.  
  
“I—I see. Thank you, Jeralt, Byleth. You have given me much to think on,” she murmured, voice weak, her entire posture deflated. “I suppose I should count our blessings that we captured the spy before anything worse happened ... perhaps they can help elucidate some of this.”  
  
“They’re not nobody, Lady Rhea,” Jeralt opined. “He was able to order the Death Knight around, even if he was shirking his authority at the same time, but that seems one of the Knight’s quirks. So he definitely knows _something_.”

She nodded sadly. “Just so, Knight-Captain,” she sighed, looking back over at Byleth again, her eyes truly sad as her scent took on a mildewed undertone that was so different from her usually sharp, smokey scent, expertly hidden as it was amid the heavy incense.

“I… am truly sorry, Professor Byleth,” she said, nodding her head once more. “I have failed you and your students yet again, sending them on this mission. First the Battle, and now this.” She gave a humorless laugh. “You have every right to loathe me for allowing your students to be exposed to whatever hell this _Solon_ character had been up to.”

She straightened, then. “But words are wind. Rest assured, even with Knights as support, I will personally vet and ensure whatever reason any house is sent out for is justified and guaranteed to be safe, or else guarded sufficiently. I understand how grave an insult it is to have a superior fail to account for the safety of one’s loved ones, and I wish to make amends,” she said, true contrition on her face.

Oh. _Now_ Blythe understood. This was about more than students in danger, Rhea was apologizing for putting Byleth’s _pack_ in danger. She looked to Byleth, awaiting his response, chest tight with worry.

“They’re shaping up to be strong regardless,” Byleth said without any hint of emotion which Blythe knew held vitriol. “But the sentiment is appreciated, even if it comes late.”

“Is there _anything_ else I can do?” she almost begged, leaning forward towards Byleth. “Anything at all, I swear it will be done,” she continued, her scent cloying in Blythe’s nose now, rotten incense and alchemist’s smoke.

“The offer is appreciated,” Byleth repeated, enunciating each word without raising his voice, “but no longer necessary.” Then, he shifted his weight onto one of his feet in a stark contrast to the rigidly straight posture he had held before. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to my students.” 

“Byleth,” Blythe murmured reproachfully, the Archbishop standing before them looking as if she’d been slapped.

“I—of course, Professor. You have completed your debriefing, and may return to your days,” she said robotically.  
  
Their group left the chamber, Blythe leveling an apologetic look Rhea’s way as the doors closed. Father made his excuses saying he was exhausted and wanted a nap and made his way off, leaving the two of them alone in the unnatural stillness of the nearly-empty building.  
  


She looked at her brother, an ache in her chest. “ _She was trying to make amends. You didn’t have to throw it in her face like that,_ ” she managed as they walked back out into the chill of autumn.

“ _You can only make amends if the damage done_ can _be amended_ ,” Byleth replied without so much as even looking at her, instead glaring at some imagined enemy in the middle distance, and Blythe suspected whoever it was had green hair and a headdress. It made a pit hollow out her stomach that matched the rift that was widening between her family, and there likely wasn’t anything she could do to fill it back in and make it feel like it did before.

Even a bridge seemed to look only like pitch.

“ _So, what… our auntie is now and forever your enemy? She can never be forgiven? So you punish her for even trying to make things right? If you hate her, that’s one thing, but don’t pretend you’re being reasonable,_ ” she said, her own blood heating in Rhea’s defense.

“ _Her ‘making things right’ isn’t going to bring back a father or a brother—_ ”

“ _Don’t put words in my mouth, Byleth. She is trying to do what she can, she’s not the Goddess. She’s the leader of a religion, she has to make painful decisions, probably every day. Father sent people to their deaths too, and he did it for coin,”_ she continued, frustration overflowing, eyes slitting. “ _You act like you know her, but you don’t, Byleth. You don’t know anything about her, or her burdens, and she’s doing her best to do right by you and run a religion at the same time.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“And I’m to believe you know her so well? Who is she, Blythe, why should I give that woman the time of day? How can you trust her?”_ Byleth demanded, arm shooting out in a sharp gesture.  
  
“ _I trust her because she cares about us, she’s family, and if that isn’t enough you should give her a chance because she matters to me!”_ Blythe countered sharply, voice almost keening with the frustration and emotional turmoil coursing through her chest, a violent maelstrom choking her from the inside. Why did he have to _do_ this, how could she make him understand?

“ _I—I don’t—”_ Blythe twitched her hands, raising and lowering them as she considered and denied different ways to explain, and seeing how dug in her brother was, deflating with sadness.

“ _Let’s— let’s just drop it,”_ she finally murmured. “ _I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”_

“ _Family can say they care about you and still make decisions that hurt you_ ,” Byleth said, and then he turned to walk away, leaving her there in the hall alone.

Blythe stood, stonelike, the only sign of life the breeze rustling her hair with eyes slit but unreadable. “ _...Well, you’d know a thing or two about that,_ ” she murmured petulantly to herself, hating the way her voice quavered and how her chest felt like it was going to split in two. In a foolish, childish fit of pique, she took a deep breath: “ _You always have to have the last word, don’t you!?”_ she cried out, shocking a student who was walking by.

Her eyes stung. Her heart hurt. Why did this have to be so _hard_?

If she knew how to cry, she would have.

* * *

“Lift your leg higher, Dorothea,” called Blythe over the piano that was keeping time for her.  
  
Dorothea did just that, her next leg-lift positively statuesque as she moved through her steps. Blythe was very lucky to have such a gifted student to impress the monastery with for the White Heron. 

They’d been at it for days now, and the progress was admirable, and it seemed between Dorothea’s stage experience and Blythe’s natural inclinations towards dance, they made a good team.

It hadn’t really been a question when it came to the nomination for the Eagles’ representative. As soon as she’d read Seteth’s missive to the class, Petra and Bernadetta both jolted up out of their seats to nominate Dorothea, and everyone agreed unanimously. It was no secret Dorothea was a songstress skilled on the stage, why not a dancer as well? She heard no objections and personally agreed, and Dorothea cheerfully assented to the nomination.

Which led them to where they were, having taken over the choral stage to practice, Manuela playing music to keep time with Petra and Bernadetta both sitting politely in the pews, holding hands and watching their girlfriend do her best.

The scents they were all giving off were wonderfully happy. It was just what she needed after the terrible news Father and Byleth brought back from Remire. She didn’t even have the energy to be angry with Byleth anymore, just… a bone-deep weariness. Despite it all, she loved him, and the stories out of Remire were fit for nightmares, the sort that made her seriously consider simply following Byleth wherever he went. Three times now he’d been in danger and she’d been nowhere to be found, and she was sick of it.

She was surprised when Manuela had mused about her and Dorothea’s shared time at the Opera. However, she supposed it was only fair that she wasn’t the only person with unexpected links to people here at Garreg Mach.

  
All the same, a spike of jealousy came over her to smell how relaxed and happy Dorothea was in a relative stranger’s presence, hugging her hello and chatting like old friends, but she knew she was being unreasonable. If she was important to Dorothea, she was important to her. And so she would mark her and keep her safe, simple as that.

_Unlike some people._

She winced, annoyed with herself for thinking something so unworthy. She clapped her hands to keep time as Dorothea worked through some leaps, shouting encouragement and pointers as the woman worked. From her scent singing in her sweat alone, she could smell how much fun Dorothea was having. She must truly love the stage.

She very decisively did not allow anything else to bother her as she worked with Dorothea, smiling as the two worked through various drills and ironed down some of the foot-work she needed to really get across the feeling of the piece.

She and Dorothea worked through all manner of exercises, Manuela calling good-natured ribs and advice as they worked.  
  
“You weren’t joking, Dorie! The professor’s light on her feet, isn’t she?” she called cheerily, standing from her piano bench. “Well, regardless, that’s it for me today. I’ve got some grading to do. Goddess knows where I’ll find more ink at this hour ,” she sighed, as the students all called their goodbyes.  
  
“Thank you for coming to help us, Manuela,” she said gently, a warm smile on her face. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we really appreciate you taking the time.”

Manuela waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said cheerily. “It’s not often I get to remind everyone I’m a musician, or spend time with Dorie. She seems happy, so good on you, Professor.”  
  
Blythe ducked her head, bowing awkwardly. One final, “Thank you, Manuela,” was all she managed, before the woman trotted away to return to her duties.

“I think it’s around time we left, too, Professor. I think I’d like to get washed up before dinner,” Dorothea said as she wicked away a bit of sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “What do you say, girls? How’s a trip to the baths sound?”

“I think we would be liking that very much,” Petra replied with a smile as Dorothea took her and Bernadetta’s hands and strode past Blythe and out the door, chatting all the while.

Blythe found herself to be a bit jealous, if she was being honest. The three of them were happy to be in each others’ company, none of them fighting or bickering amongst themselves or keeping things hidden. They were just happily together in a way she couldn’t be with anyone in her life, it seemed.

She sighed for perhaps the umpteenth time that day there in the now empty room. Her steps echoed through the grand acoustics of the choral bell as she went over to the piano, collecting the sheet music for their piece. It wouldn’t do to have anyone stumble across their plans, after all.  
  
After straightening the papers, she sat down, taken by whimsy, gently tapping this or that note. Of course she couldn’t read music, there had never been true chances to learn in her life, but she did always enjoy it. People could touch these buttons and make music happen, just as magical as a fireball or a healing spell to her mind.

“Oh. You’re here,” came a voice from the other side of the pews. She turned her head, spotting the source easily.  
  
“Felix,” she said pleasantly. She liked Felix. She saw him often at the training grounds, and he was easy to talk to. She didn’t have to come up with small talk or anything like that, and he respected her enough to ask for her advice at times on his sword work, which she had to admit made her chest swell with pride.  
  
“Hey. We rented the room for a few hours, you know that right?” he asked, walking over towards the piano.

“Yes, we just finished. I was just collecting the sheet music for our piece.”  
  
“And poking at the piano, sounds like. If you want tips, ask Ingrid. Her dad made her learn, and she’s not an awful teacher,” he offered helpfully in his back-handed way.  
  
She smiled at his offer, smelling his scent, clean and earnest. There was no lying in Felix.  
  
She frowned, though. His professor would likely be here soon. “I take it you’re expecting company and not practicing on your lonesome?” she asked gently, standing with the papers to her chest.  
  
“Yeah,” he confirmed simply, stepping up onto the stage, as more steps echoed as a few other Lions entered the bell. 

The two of them were speaking… Ingrid and Sylvain, she remembered. By her brother’s measure, good people.  
  
Yet no sign of her brother himself. She clutched her papers nervously. “Hello, students. Don’t mind me, I was just preparing to give you all the room…” she murmured, looking down at the papers.  
  
“What’s the rush, Teach?” Sylvain inquired. “Got somewhere to be?”

She shook her head. “No, no, just… I should leave you to your practice, I’m sure,” she demurred, only to be surprised when Sylvain threw an arm around her shoulder.  
  


“Come on, don’t be like that! To hear Dorie tell it, you’re the best dancer in the school! Maybe give Felix some tips? He could definitely use them!” he said, raising his voice on Felix’s rib, only for the other boy to firmly raise a specific sort of salute back.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid rebuked, pulling him off of her. “Show some respect, she’s a teacher, and the Professor’s sister beside,” she said, literally wagging her finger at him. “And besides, Felix is a lovely dancer.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Sylvain murmured, much lower this time, his scent shifting noticeably as his shoulders slumped and he scratched at the back of his head.

Oh? That was a scent she hadn’t been expecting from him… never mind about Felix.

“Sylvain aside, Professor, perhaps you _could_ stay a while longer? I’m sure you would have some great advice for us,” Ingrid volunteered, hands clasped pleadingly against her chest, making Blythe give a blustery sigh.

“Well, I… I suppose it would have to depend on my brother’s opinions on sharing your routine,” she mumbled uncertainly, feet itching to take her away before she had to see her brother again.

“Blythe.”  
  
Shit.

She whipped around to see him already halfway to their position, feet soundless on the stones. “B-brother,” she managed, straightening herself from the uncommonly mousy posture she had taken thinking about confronting him. “Forgive me. I was just leaving,” she said, preparing to leave swiftly before Sylvain caught her shoulder.  
  
“Ah-ah-ah! No you weren’t!” he called cheerily, turning to face her brother, whose eyes were… sharper than usual, sharp enough to cut straight into her. “She was gonna give Felix some tips on his routine with us! Ain’t that right, Professor Eis—uh… Miss Blythe?”  
  
She grit her teeth, not daring to look her brother in the eye. “The… the students caught me as I was leaving, and with your permission wondered if I could stay back and offer some pointers...” she murmured, hating sincerely how she sounded like a kicked dog to her own ears, in a way only Byleth or Father would recognize, or perhaps Flayn.

“I don’t see the harm,” Byleth said, and Blythe let out a breath she’d been holding as he walked past her to hand Ingrid some sheetmusic that she looked over with a somewhat surprised expression before stepping up to the piano. “Take up position, Felix.”

“But not everyone’s here yet,” Felix protested.

“They’ll be here soon enough,” Byleth replied, giving Ingrid a nod. “And stalling won’t make us retract our nomination.”

Felix let out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a sigh and moved into a starting position, and then Ingrid began playing.

The piece was a lovely one, one that was delicate and evoked the feeling of a peaceful winter, if somber from the minor key. Blythe had to admit she had gotten a bit lost in it and had almost forgotten why she was there, why she’d stayed behind.

“I can see why you chose him,” Blythe said in a whisper so as to not disturb. “He’s very light on his feet, and with a bit of polish, he could be truly graceful.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Byleth replied, and Blythe didn’t miss how he almost seemed to preen, or how he allowed himself a small smile. It was a lovely thing, something she wished he’d do more, maybe even because of her. They were such small little gifts, and she couldn’t help but want one for her own, but she felt that they were becoming rarer and rarer for them.

She’d take them where she could get them, she supposed.

“Felix,” she called, drawing the boy’s attention as he finished. “That was lovely. You have great talent, truly.”

He blushed a bit at that and ground the toe of his shoe on the wooden boards of the small lecture stage. “I didn’t do anything special,” he murmured. “Just some stuff I learned from being out on the ice. Anyone from Faerghus could do the same.”

“And yet Adrestia’s the nation known for its fine arts,” she mused. “Come now, Felix, take a compliment. Do you know me to give false flattery?” she said seriously. “Your foot-work is stable, and you keep your center of balance much better than any novice I’ve known. Swordsmanship and skating have done you well here, and your dancing will serve your sword just as readily.”  
  
Felix said nothing for a time, a pensive look coming over his face. “...You think so?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically small.  
  
She nodded firmly. “I do. The discipline you’ll learn here will only help. You’re still too wild in our spars, and it shows in your dancing, too. Your marks weren’t twinned properly on the matching leaps, and your feet simply land in position to stay stable, not in position for the actions you’re preparing to take. You aren’t letting your movements flow naturally. Maybe you should practice with someone else in the lead,” she said, thinking aloud.  
  
“What?” Felix said, aghast. “It’s a solo dance.”

There was a carefully suppressed snort from next to her.

“She has a point, Felix,” Byleth called. “She’s right on every count. You’re too focused on making sure you’re stable at each point, and not letting your movements flow naturally into each other. Maybe letting someone else take the lead would help you see when to time your movements.”  
  
Her heart swelled to have her brother back her up, and she turned to give him a thankful nod with a fractional tilt of his head in acknowledgment, a smile invisible to anyone but her.

“Someone like me,” Sylvain said, pushing himself up off from the side of the grand he had been leaning on, puffing his chest out comically.

“What, _him_ ? Don’t _I_ get a say in this!?” called Felix desperately from the stage.

“He _is_ taller than you,” said Blythe with a shrug, fighting a laugh of her own. Looking over, she saw her brother biting back a grin.

She wished he’d let her see it.

“Alright, Ingrid, again from the top,” Byleth said and nodded to her once more.

She seemed to share whatever sentiment he had, though she was both less shy about it and better able to hide it all the same as her fingers took to the keys once more.

Blythe stood, walking along the stage as Felix took to his routine with renewed vigor, his face flushed with exertion as Sylvain sidled up next to him, and Blythe could smell what she knew was embarrassment, to her cheeky delight.

Blythe said nothing, watching Felix try to put her notes into effect admirably but clumsily despite Sylvain’s best efforts. Where he should have been letting himself flow into his movements, he instead became much more stilted, all but jumping the beat now, making him seem to judder drunkenly from step to step as he tried to keep time.

If that was what he was even trying to do at all.  
  
“Ingrid, stop the music please?” Byleth said, and she did so mid-measure, which didn’t feel good to hear at all.

Felix all but shoved Sylvain away and let out a strained but silent breath as he closed his eyes tightly enough to match his shoulders. Sylvain, though, still had a smile on his face, but Blythe noted it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That was... worse,” Byleth said, and Blythe couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “You’re locking up and freezing like you don’t want people to see what you’re capable of.”

“Just so,” Blythe started. “Your classmates nominated you because they can see that you have talent and believe you can do something others should share in. You need not be embarrassed—” 

“I’m not embarrassed!” Felix shouted exactly like someone who was embarrassed would and crossed his arms.

“Dance isn’t something to be embarrassed about,” Ingrid said, and then pursed her lips. “Unless you’re not good at it, I guess, but even that’s just a matter of mindset.”

“You don’t even have to be good at it, you just have to enjoy it,” Blythe added.

“Not unless you’re in a contest or anything,” Byleth said in what was probably a joke, but Blythe couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

Felix put a hand to his forehead. “Look, that’s not it, just—” He stopped and sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Just give me time, I’ll get it,” he said in what he probably believed was a decisive tone.

“And I’m saying you’re doing it, Felix,” Sylvain said from beside him as he placed a hand on his shoulder, making Felix tense up again before looking at him. “Just loosen up a bit. Being tense isn’t going to make it any easier.”  
  


Felix looked away and gave an admirable combination of a groan and a scoff as he brushed his arm off. “Easy for you to say. You’re always out there making an ass of yourself like you don’t care who knows.”

Sylvain gave a half-shrug, his smile falling a bit. “It doesn’t matter what I do. They’re all gonna say what they want to anyway,” Sylvain replied, and Blythe could smell a hint of something subtle in his scent that made her want to squint.

“The way you conduct yourself doesn’t help, I’m sure,” Ingrid said, as nonplussed as Blythe had heard anyone be.

“What can I say? Sometimes I can’t resist,” Sylvain said with another shrug, this one almost theatrical for how pronounced it was. Then he gave Felix a courtly bow and then with a shit-eating grin on his face said, “Milady?”  
  


“Fuck. Off,” Felix bit back, yet stepping closer all the same.

“Enough,” Byleth said, standing and drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. “Felix, everyone in this room is here because we want you to perform at your best, which I would remind you—” He looked pointedly at Sylvain. “—is for more than just him. He’s representing the entire Blue Lion house in this, so I would appreciate it if you two would put whatever grievance between you aside long enough for some good to come out of this practise. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” they both muttered.

“Good,” Byleth replied, sitting back down and bringing his hands back together in his lap. “Once more, Ingrid.”

And this time, when Ingrid took to the keys, the two boys looked at each other without any malice, took each other’s hands, and fell into step. Felix allowed Sylvain’s arm around his waist, and then he was leading him through the steps, but this time he moved more fluidly, his movements more natural as Sylvain spun him gently.

They moved in tandem as though they were a singular unit, bergamot mixing with amber in Blythe’s nose along with something underneath it all, something like a flame, but without the burn or the smoke. Just warmth.

“ _They smell lovely_ ,” she said to her brother’s side as he watched them.

“ _Much better than they do apart_ ,” Byleth replied, not taking his eyes off of them, though something shone in them that looked like pride.

She cocked her head to the side. “ _What do you mean?_ ”

“ _Normally he smells sour, like if you squeezed out a bunch of citrus fruits and reduced the juice in a pot_ ,” Byleth replied, his nose wrinkling. “ _It’s especially strong when he’s trying to chat up a girl_.”

Blythe thought back to the times she’d seen him around the monastery or the town in the valleys around the highlands, to times she’d seen him with a girl only to notice her in tears or angry in the following days. She could recall how abrasive the scent had been to her nose, how it was almost an affront on her senses, but she didn’t know if it had been him or his actions that had gotten to her more.

“ _What’s different now?_ ” she asked, the stark contrast piquing her curiosity.

Byleth looked at her then. “ _Now he smells sincere_.”

Blythe looked at them both in a new light; the way Sylvain held onto Felix’s waist, the way Felix pressed his chest against his partner’s. Unbeknownst to herself she sighed, lovelorn. “ _It’s more than that,”_ she whispered. “ _He smells like he’s in love.”_

Byleth turned to look at her as she came back to herself. She felt his eyes on her for a long time, but he said nothing, turning back to the dancers. 

They followed the steps effortlessly now; the song must have been an old Faerghan classic, for how well they seemed to know the song.

Byleth, it seems, was not interested in that at the moment. “ _You smell like him too, now,_ ” he said, not quite a judgment, but a pointed observation. 

Blythe sighed, staring at the two gazing intensely into each other’s eyes as they drifted along the stage. “ _Once you know it, you see it everywhere, I suppose. I’ve smelled it on you, too, By_.”

Her brother said nothing, and they all looked at the routine as it unfolded, Felix folding elegantly into a dip, Sylvain following him down with an intense look in his eye. As they met at the bottom, faces inches from one another, heat burning both their cheeks.

The piece ended, the two finishing in the dip, breathing heavily from exertion. “There,” Blythe called. “Didn’t that feel better, Felix?” 

Felix said nothing, simply allowing Sylvain to slowly lift him back up, their eyes never leaving one another.

“I don’t see how I’m supposed to do that by myself without falling,” Felix grumbled as he gently pushed Sylvain away from him, and Blythe can smell a sort of conflict from him.

“You don’t have to,” Blythe said, and she could see confusion appear on his face from somewhere in his emotional fog. “The point of this was to get you to loosen up and see your routine as if it were a duet. It doesn’t mean it has to be a one-for-one.”

“Oh, so he’s not going to do a death drop?” came a new voice from the back of the room, and they all turned to see a few of the other Lions huddled around the doorway.

“I don’t think that would be the safest thing to do, Mercedes,” said Ashe as he strode in behind her.

“Oh, but it would be so exciting,” Mercedes said with a sigh, but the smile on her face betrayed her mirth. “I know it would win me over if I were a judge.”

“I fail to see how me falling in front of everyone at the cup would do more than get me a point deduction,” Felix said as he crossed his arms.

Sylvain slung his arm around his neck. “You could learn to do the splits. It’s pretty useful, and you wouldn’t fall.”

“How the hell is that _useful?_ ” Felix asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Indeed. I find myself confused on the matter as well,” Ashe added.

Mercedes opened her mouth, but Byleth held up a hand and silenced her with a quick “ _No_.”

Blythe clapped her hands definitively. “Whatever the case, the important part is that your movements became much smoother and flowed through the steps as you trusted Sylvain to keep you on track. If you can transfer some of that into the main routine, the piece will be much stronger,” she explained, choosing to ignore the other Lions for now. She didn’t know how to deal with her brother’s brood very well yet. Best not to overstep her boundaries and treat them like her Eagles.

“Think you can handle it by yourself now?” Byleth asked, turning back to face Felix.

The boy tapped his finger against his arm where they were crossed and seemed to be mulling it over. “Of course,” he said at length. “It’s not anything difficult.”

“Good. Let’s do it again,” Byleth replied.

And so they did, and then again and again, with Felix improving in great strides each time, until they’d used up all their allotted time in the chamber. By the time they had wrapped up and made to leave, the sun had turned from golden light to dusky purples, and the dark blue of night had begun to seep in from the east.

They would see the stars soon, Blythe thought as she stood out on the colonnade as her brother bid his students good night.

Eventually, they all rounded the corner to the baths or the dining hall, and the two of them were left there alone.

“I can see why you care for them so,” Blythe said into the chill of the autumn night. 

“I’m sure you care about your Eagles in much the same way,” he answered absent-mindedly.

“By…” she started, staring at where the students had left them. “ _I’m sorry. I truly am. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about what you said, and I just… I want you to know that you come first. Before anything else, no matter what,_ ” she said, clutching her hands together.

There was a long silence.  
  
“ _I don’t need an apology, Blythe. That was never the issue. We may have been… combative, of late, but you—you’re still my sister, one half of my soul,”_ he said softly, a gentle hand cradling Blythe’s cheek. Blythe closed her eyes, leaning into the touch, a soft purr echoing in her chest.  
  
“ _I… I’m so glad, brother,_ ” she murmured, opening her eyes to look at him. She frowned, breaking contact and looking down shamefully. “ _I… was certain I was losing you, that everything was falling apart around me_.”

Byleth sighed, pulling her into his arms properly now, stroking her back. “ _Never, Blythe. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Same as ever, and nothing will change that. I don’t like… her. But I’ll always love you, even if I don’t think you should trust her as much as you seem to,_ ” he said, nuzzling into her neck and making her gasp pleasantly at the feel of his loving touch.  
  
Blythe couldn’t resist nuzzling into his neck in turn, the smell of petrichor and juniper invigorating her. “ _Oh, By,_ ” she sighed, holding him close, and for a moment, they stayed like that: quiet and in each other’s arms like it would heal everything they and the world had thrown at one another . “ _I promise I’ll take your words into account,”_ she murmured, the desire for reciprocation going unspoken.

“Just make sure you hold them at the same level you hold hers. That alone would be enough,” Byleth said, and suddenly Blythe understood.

It wasn’t that he was so opposed to Rhea — well, not entirely, anyway; he certainly held no love for her — it was that he had felt that she had become more important to Blythe than he had. He’d felt less usurped and more like he’d been cast aside.

In her pursuit of family, she’d almost let what she already had fall to the wayside.

She nuzzled him, emotions too strong to think of letting him go yet. “ _...Would you like to join me for tea with Flayn after class tomorrow?”_ she asked, her voice carefully gentle.

Mercifully this time he didn’t tense at the mention of one of their green-haired extended family. “... _I suppose I could make the time for her. I haven’t seen her since the kidnapping,_ ” he said softly and, for once, without caution .  
  
Blythe continued nuzzling him, unable to help herself. “ _All the more reason. She’s missed you, I’m sure._ ”

The two stayed together a while longer, a pair of twins mercifully reconciled, a wound finally bandaged so that it could heal properly.

She was cherishing this moment, and unapologetic therein.  
  
“... _We should probably get back to our duties, Blythe,_ ” he murmured, scent souring softly as he broke their hug, eyes downcast. “ _We can talk more when we turn in, alright?_ ”  
  
Blythe nodded, grumpily accepting the logic of her brother’s words. “ _Alright,_ ” she murmured. “ _Stay safe, brother.”_

Quietly, the two went their separate ways. The chances were that they would see each other again soon enough, but she had one more stop to make before she went back to their room. 

She walked through the darkened paths of the monastery, making her way to a particular dorm, knocking twice gently.

A moment later, the door opened on silent hinges, Blythe greeted with a gentle smile.  
  
“My teacher. I missed you today,” said Edelgard guiding her into her room and closing the door behind her.

What happened behind that door was for the two of them to savor.

In the wake of that, however, the twins slept peacefully in the same room, if perhaps only after he’d ordered Blythe to clean off her mate’s smell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as ever! If you'd like to come say hi and chat, and look at some neat outtakes and Secret Documents, come join our discord at https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm !  
> Please note, it's 18+, but past that all are welcome!


	29. Cup Runneth Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byleth is finally able to speak his piece.

If she was being completely honest with herself, Flayn had to admit: she had not been busy in a long, long time.

Every day, for decades, her schedule was wide open. No lessons, no duties, she was little more than a decoration festooning the monastery, as best as she could tell. The highlight of her day was when Cyril allowed her to help feed the horses and wyverns.

But she wasn’t bitter about it; she understood. As much as she chafed privately at the gentle hands she was handled with by Father and Auntie Rhea, she could never begrudge them. After the agony that must have been her long rest, the both of them must have been unsure if she’d ever wake.

They were simply afraid, cautious, desperate to make sure she had been fully healed after the poisoning. It had been a close thing after all. Not many things could make any being hibernate for so long. 

She only wished that they understood she was _okay_ now, yet each day she spoke to them, she scented the sourness of their fear, the encompassing nature of their concern and protectiveness, and she could never begrudge them. They loved her; they were simply scared. They were, after all, the only ones left.

So, Flayn, over the long days and nights, had taken up all manner of hobbies. Board games, cookery (albeit with… mixed success), subjects of all kinds to research and learn about in Garreg Mach’s libraries. Even proper tea fancy, which had proven one of her most profitable hobbies to date.  
  
Certainly, the mechanics and technicalities of tea, its preparation, how to serve it, with what, the various blends were of interest, but the sheer breadth of people she had been able to speak with over the course of the centuries simply by offering a good cup of tea had proven the greatest boon to her lonely heart.

She had been too young to remember Zanado in its prime, but she was sure she would have loved it. People everywhere, happy, without secrets, safe under Sothis’s gaze.

Even if she were not there, she could sense what had been lost from what she felt was missing now, and it was a wound they all shared, the pain too deep and private to be shared even between them.

All the same, she cherished tea time, particularly when it was with her family. They all had demons they hid, specters who lined the shadows of their souls. Some were centuries old, but there was one surefire to silence them at least for a while: quality time.

So, Flayn visited the market once a week on clearance day, haggled and bartered as smartly as she could for whatever blends seemed of quality from the batches the merchants brought to the Monastery, spending much of her Father’s allowance in the process. A worthy sacrifice, especially now.  
  
She had new family she simply _had_ to make feel welcome.

So, she prepared her teas, kept herself available, and had even managed to coax Blythe and Byleth more than once, and she was so happy for that simple fact.

She couldn’t believe it when she’d eavesdropped on Father and Auntie and got confirmation of what her nose had been suggesting. She had been over the moon. As if a gift from the Goddess, she had more people to love! More people to know and cherish! Flayn’s heart soared at the thought of getting to care for her new young cousins, and she was not disappointed. She loved them both.  
  
Blythe was so soft beneath her facade. Her scent was an open book, shy but eager, so excited by everything about her, about her people, and _Goddess_ it felt good to speak in her mother tongue more freely! She was so sincere, and they shared love and fascination for one another. She cherished her, and knew her already to be Pack even before she had saved her.

Byleth, too, was sweet, even if he was fearful and nervous in a way his sister was not. He was afraid, but she knew him to be good. They had spoken before, and he had proven himself an intelligent, well-spoken gentleman she would be more than happy to call cousin once he grew accustomed to his heritage. She was nothing if not a patient woman.

Learning of their exploits, too, was one of the few things that lit up her days. Brave Byleth, in particular, had proven one of the most exciting pieces of gossip around the monastery.

She may not have been a student, or faculty, or much of anything in Garreg Mach, but that just gave her all the more power to seek out the information her family kept from her.  
  
It was better that way. They got to believe they were keeping her safe, and she got to hone her ears and her nose, learning everything there was to know about the monastery’s people and world events that mattered to them.

So, hearing of Professor Byleth’s exploits, fighting church rebels, demonic beasts, reclaiming holy relics, especially when he worked with his sister… it was like they were heroes out of myth!

She would even go so far as to admit she looked up to them and their martial prowess, how they’d so bravely fought the Death Knight, defended the monastery and their students, and held off monsters like heroes of old.

And, of course, how they’d saved her life. She was a bit disheartened that she had yet to hear of plans to invite them formally into the pack, but she imagined that it had to do with Byleth’s dislike of Auntie Rhea. 

She was, after all, difficult to love at times, and Byleth had good reason to distrust her based off his experiences alone.

But it was alright. In that, as all things, she was a patient woman. All would be well in due time.

And it was with that firm patience and eye for detail she’d honed over centuries that she stood in the gardens, carefully preparing the tiered plate of tea-time morsels, placing all of her and Lysithea’s creations on full display.

The young lady was so… different, from anyone else she’d met. So busy, so hardworking, she rushed about as if she truly understood how little time her people had. That simultaneously filled her with respect for her alongside a deep, encompassing sadness.

She was so sweet. Humans normally were blessed so as not to understand how truly short their lives were, but she rebelled against it, desperate to fight against that shadow which came for them all. 

It was all she could do to offer her sweets and a companionable ear, at least to start.

She didn’t truly understand how humans viewed friendship, but… she liked to think that they had become close, despite the inherent challenges of their racial divide.

Father certainly made it painfully clear when he got the scent that she was growing too fond of the humans from time to time. “ _They will die in an eyeblink, and your heart will bleed for centuries after, daughter. It is not worth the pain,_ ” he would say, in the grim tones of a man who spoke no word of a lie.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts and in daintily placing the lady fingers they had baked yesterday after Lyssie’s classes that she hardly even noticed Byleth until he was standing next to her, coughing politely.  
  
“Oh! Byleth,” she gasped in shock, nearly jostling the tiered plate as she gave a polite, albeit nervous laugh. “Forgive me, I was focused on preparing the sweets. You’re early! Don’t fear, I brought cucumber sandwiches, as well!” she enthused, drawing an amused noise from the back of his throat.  
  
“I am,” he acceded. “I finished my morning ablutions in good time is all, so I thought perhaps I could help set up before Blythe arrives.”  
  
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to go through all the trouble. Don’t mind me, I’ll just finish preparing the spread and so forth,” she said cheerily, placing her little tarts on the top tier, the fruit filling shining enticingly in the morning sun.

“It’s really not any trouble,” Byleth replied as he looked at the table, eyes falling on the tea pot. “I can at least get the water ready for you.”

Flayn hummed and tapped her chin with a knuckle. “As a hostess, I cannot ask that any guest of mine lift a finger, but if you insist, then I suppose it would be rude of me to deny your assistance.”

“We could all use some,” Byleth replied as he set the pot atop the trivet stand, and Flayn watched as he waved his hand over a tea light, a flame flickering to life on the wick, and placed it underneath.

“Indeed,” Flayn said as she placed the last of her tarts in a neat little array on the tier. And, oh, the faint smell of brackish water hit her nose, and that made her heart sink. She knew Byleth to be a quiet and nurturing person, like a gentle rain washing over a misty forest and giving it life, and to have his scent sour like this meant that something was hurting him.

Gently, she reached a hand forward, placing it gently on her cousin’s shoulder. “ _Thank you so much for joining me today, cousin._ _I know you’re always so busy, so I am so thankful that you agreed to come_ _,_ ” she said softly, infusing as much sincerity as she could muster into her smile. 

Byleth scratched at his head awkwardly, hand hovering over her arm as she slowly pulled it back. “ _Well… that is, I’ve been busy. I’m sorry for that. I do enjoy our teas; you’re an exemplary hostess,”_ he said, obviously trying to sidestep what was bothering him, scent still brackish and mocking her with its awkward sadness.

She wouldn’t stand for it.

She gestured to his seat at the table, place-card boasting his name proudly in elegant scripts. “Won’t you take a seat?” she asked, reverting to common speech for the moment. “I admit, getting to have tea with someone other than Brother and Auntie is a nice change of pace. I love them both, but you can only have tea so many times before the topics begin to repeat,” she said, laughing politely to herself as she kept an eye on the tea light.

He took his seat, picking up the place card to examine it, scent growing softer as he looked at it. “...What do you usually talk about?” he asked, scent shifting. He probably thought he was being subtle, but she could smell his intent a mile away, whether she wanted to or not. The duckweed undertones gave him away. He smelled swampy, but healthy. She seemed to at least have given him something to focus on.

“Oh, this and that. They try to keep me out of official Church business, but I have my ways to keep informed,” she continued breezily, affecting a lackadaisical tone as she examined her nails. “We just speak about family things mostly — how we are, what we’re doing to keep occupied — but they never want to share anything about business with me, so inevitably I end up carrying the conversation,” she said amusedly. “ _But lately… we’ve spoken about you and your sister quite often. I hope it’s not a surprise to you to know you’re of great interest and import to us._ ”

Byleth looked thoughtful at that. “ _I can’t say I’m surprised. My sister and I have been making waves, but… you don’t work with them on managing the Church?_ ” he asked, lapsing into their tongue for privacy’s sake. He was a smart boy. “ _I thought, since you’re Rhea and Seteth’s family…_ ”  
  
Flayn shook her head, smiling. “ _No. They believe me too weak still to manage such things.”_

“ _Since the attack, you mean?_ ” Byleth inquired innocently, to which Flayn shook her head. There was another scent on the wind now. Blythe was nearby, but she wasn’t moving. Perhaps she was eavesdropping? That might have been for the best, for now. She could sense where this conversation was going.

“ _No. I was… ill, for a very long time. Since before Brother even came to help Auntie run the church_ ,” she clarified. “ _Even Brother has not been helping Rhea long; she’s been all alone, for a very long time_.”

Byleth grunted softly, a frown marring his face. “ _Shame, that. To know your brother I feel he’d make a better Archbishop than her,”_ he said, unable to hide the vein of vitriol in his voice. But it was nothing she didn’t already know. 

“ _You’re probably right,_ ” she laughed. “ _She may not tell me why, but Rhea has told me many a time how she feels to be a poor fit for the archbishopric. To hear my f-brother tell it, Auntie was a firebrand in her youth, nothing like she is now,”_ she said, eyes glassy as she recalled those conversations, precious gems of knowledge about the family she cherished.  
  
“ _I only mean that— wait, you_ agree _with me?”_ he asked, adorably baffled, and his scent took on a surprised, fresh fish sort of smell. Flayn couldn’t help but laugh at that, voice tinkling like bells before she calmed, face falling into a mask of seriousness.  
  
“ _Of course. Even Auntie Rhea knows she’s a bad fit. She hates being Archbishop, and her mistakes haunt her. She can’t stay neutral, can’t live up to the ideals of the church’s neutrality, doesn’t even know how. We all want her to step down. She’s tired, Byleth. I don’t even know how long she’s led the Church, but she never wanted to. She does it for Grandmother’s sake, to keep the world of men stable until she can return to protect them. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself.”_ Flayn sighed, sadness breaking through. “ _I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Auntie truly happy, in all the years I’ve known her.”_ _  
_  
Byleth seemed dumbstruck, staring at her intensely. The only sign he was still physically present was when he snuffed the tea light between two fingers before he spoke up. “ _But… if she hates it so much, why doesn’t she step down? What about Seteth, or one of the Cardinals?”_ he asked, voice uncertain. Perhaps he truly didn’t see how Auntie had been suffering ‘til now. Perhaps he was just surprised Rhea knew of her own lack of qualifications.  
  
Flayn sighed. “ _Goodness Byleth, I’m no political scientist, even if I’ve read books on the matter,”_ she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. All the same, she pressed on. “ _It would destabilize a great many things. The Cardinals were never meant to rule. The Archbishop’s post was always meant for Grandmother, and Auntie’s only holding it until she returns. Unfortunately, well… a few years became many, became centuries, and she hasn’t come back. I’m not sure she ever will,”_ Flayn said soberly, tracing the patterns on her plate: prancing wyverns, imported from Almyra. One of Father’s most cherished gifts to her, still serviceable and nearly pristine after three hundred years.

Even so, she’d break these plates here and now if it meant bringing the twins closer to them. She didn’t enjoy speaking of her aunt’s failings, but if elucidating the situation might help in some way, she wouldn’t hesitate. So, she began again, taking a deep breath as she stared at Byleth, who had been listening to her intently.

 _“Brother has only been working with regards to the Church for a few decades. Compared to Auntie’s years of experience, he’s a novice and she’s still extremely competent in the daily goings-on of the Church. And Brother doesn’t want the post either, and Auntie is loath to put such a burden on his shoulders even if he is the only one she could give it to. He still wants to care for me, and even if he did it would take several decades to form a story strong enough to make him worthy of the position in the eyes of the Church body,”_ she sighed.  
  
Flayn checked the temperature of the tea as she spoke, pleased to see that Byleth’s snuffing had set the temperature just right for the Seiros blend she knew the twins preferred. Deftly, she began to pack the infuser as she continued.  
  
“ _And war is coming_ ,” she intoned grimly. “ _A change of power now would be foolishness, and for all her failings, Auntie is the strongest warrior among us, in every way. She can protect us from those who wish us harm,”_ she stated with finality, eyes boring into Byleth’s, his scent confused, anxious, angry and intrigued among many more emotions. It was no surprise; she’d given him more than a bit to think about.  
  
So she broke the tension with a tittering laugh. “Oh, but do forgive me, Professor! I’ve been speaking so long, and you haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise!” she said, placing the infuser into the kettle to steep.

He sighed at length, the salt creeping back into his scent once more. “It’s just not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Flayn asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Any of it,” Byleth replied, tracing his fingers over the same wyverns in the pattern. “ _Rhea knows she’s bad for the job, and yet she makes no effort to try to be any better at it_ .” He pursed his brow. “ _What makes it worse is that she doesn’t seem to care. Everything she does hurts someone, and it seems intentional. She makes a system where she is absolute and then hunts down and kills anyone who so much as sneezes the wrong way instead of hearing what they have to say_.”

He snorted, a wry thing, and her nose got the hint of coals. “ _Well, all except for me, I guess. But we’ll see how long that stays true_ ,” he said with something in his voice that might have been humor but for how it brimmed with spite. 

He’d been sitting on this for quite some time, Flayn noticed, so she just nodded for him to continue as she checked the pot.

And so he did. “ _Not to mention the Church’s Crest fixation, which I’m sure she’s in no rush to change_ ,” he all but growled. “ _She sees how it’s hurting the kids — I_ know _she does — but she does_ nothing _, and she’s not going to_ do anything _. She’s just going to let the cycle continue and ruin families so she can get more broken kids and start over again and it_ —” His voice caught. “— _They all deserve so much better_.”

“ _She does it for all of us, you know_ ,” Flayn said after a moment, if only to make sure he was finished. “ _I... can’t explain, but she does. For all of us: you, me, Brother, your sister... So that we can be safe_.”

Byleth sat there for a moment, staring into the glaze of the plate and looking sadder than she thought someone with such a limited range of expression could. “ _I just don’t see what makes five people worth more than millions_ ,” he said softly, and then another silence settled as he sighed. “ _If our existence means they all have to suffer, then maybe we shouldn’t exist at all_.”

Flayn sighed, feeling her heart ache for this sweet boy. She stood, tea forgotten; it would be ready any moment, but she could always brew another pot. She walked over to Byleth’s seat, gently encircling him in her arms. “ _You’re a good man, Byleth. Your instincts are true. They are. And Rhea, though it pains her, knows that. She’s been hurt, and she’s so, so tired… but you’re right. That’s no excuse,”_ she murmured, gently stroking his hair. “ _She could have tried harder,_ should be _trying harder, but no one is perfect. Despite her failings, we all love her, and she loves us, and part of what it means to be family — true family — is to love someone despite their failings and to try and guide them when they have gone astray. I think you can help her with that; I think she wants you to.”_ _  
_ _  
_ She stroked his hair, the salt in his scent all but burning her. It was bitter, painful, but it was clear that she had to be the one to drink that bitter draught for his sake and for them all. No one else could.  
  
“ _But my Auntie is not so cruel as you paint her. She’s trapped in a machine of her own foolish devising, and she tries to do good, truly she does, but she is neither omniscient nor omnipotent. She is fallible, and weak, and deserves love the same as anyone. And as for us…”_ Her movements stilled, a shiver running down her spine. She could feel the waves of her scent growing choppier, dirtier, like an unfresh catch on a dock. “ _There are people who would use us to truly terrible ends. I refuse to claim to know what any life is worth, but we… our blood, our bodies, our heritage… one of Auntie’s greatest achievements was ensuring our influence did not spread to the world of men more than it has, all without Grandmother. It would have been anarchy. Would_ still _be anarchy if it happened today, and that risk is still present.”_

She resumed stroking his back, unsure if she was helping. She prayed that she was. “ _...But love is a dangerous thing, Byleth, as much as it is beautiful, and no one loves as strongly as Rhea. She has fire in her that makes her scent seem like little more than cinders, but she loves us fully, unreservedly. She would tear down the world to protect us, and I cannot fault her for that. We all would for one another, and I’m sure you might have people you feel the same for. She is who she is, as are we all.”_

Byleth gently shirked her off, reaching for the kettle and removing the infuser, then turning to gently wrap his arms around her once more, making something in her chest tighten with pleasure. What a sweet, considerate boy he was. She truly hoped she was doing the right thing, speaking so frankly. He deserved some honesty.

“I just don’t see why we’re worth fighting for,” Byleth said in a voice that was too quiet for even a whisper.

Flayn’s heart broke. How could she explain to this sweet child that he deserved to live? How could she explain that no creature wished to die, and would do anything necessary to live on? How Rhea had taken all of the sins needed to ensure their survival and placed them on her own back, a martyr who takes even Byleth’s hatred for the sake of them all? How could she explain how beautiful, how incredible of a person Rhea was to him?

She could only hope as he grew to know the real Auntie Rhea, who had cried the first time she called her Auntie Rhea, who had bemoaned the fact that she was getting bigger because she couldn’t wear the adorable red shoes she’d gotten her as a child… she had to trust Rhea’s goodness would shine through, somehow.

“...Hello?” called a shy voice from the corner of a hedge. Ah, so Blythe was finally stepping in. It made sense; she had been silent for a while now.  
  
“Blythe,” called Byleth, letting her go and turning to her. “You’ve arrived at a good time; the tea is ready,” he said, scent shuttering, becoming blander, more predictably the base scents he always gave off as he mastered himself. 

That, too, made her sad, that he was worried about revealing his feelings to his own sister. She turned, smiling warmly towards her. “Hello, Blythe,” she said, hands clasped as she stepped forward, taking her into a warm hug, the both of them scenting each other as was their custom. “I’m so glad you’re here.”  
  
“Well, I’m happy to have us all together too. I wanted us all to have a chance to talk, perhaps bond a bit,” she said shyly as she scratched her nose, as if she were making a daring request and not the most natural thing in the world for family to do.

She truly wondered what it was like to be human, to have so many layers of propriety and etiquette, to have such weaker familial instincts and somehow try to build a society. It must have been perfectly awful, if such simple things were treated as privileges and rarities. “Of course!” she cheered. “Sit, sit, you have a place card next to Byleth, and I’ve prepared morsels to go with our tea! The first pot is Seiros blend, since I know you both enjoy it, but I brought my tea chest if we felt like being adventurous!” she cooed, eagerly shooing Blythe off to her seat, where she sat and had a tart placed into her hand, huge eyes widening quizzically at the offering.

“So… you were early, Byleth,” Blythe observed, her scent twisting into itself, folding and folding until it was dense and hard to read. A defense mechanism similar to her father’s. “Did you talk about anything interesting while I was gone?” she asked gently, as if she knew how dangerous that simple question was.

Well, perhaps she did. She’d smelled her nearby, and a manakete’s ears were quite keen.

“Oh, this and that,” Flayn said breezily, beginning to pour them all their cups, starting with Byleth. “We spoke a bit about philosophy, political science, things like that,” she said, telling the truth without telling the truth, a skill she’d mastered long ago.  
  
Blythe nodded. “...I see. I suppose it’s a good thing I missed it. My brother was always much more book-minded than me when it came to such things, I doubt I’d have been good company,” she said, with a self-deprecating huff of laughter.  
  
“ That’s _still_ an easy problem to remedy, Blythe . I could always lend you my books,” said Byleth as if it were an ongoing conversation they’d been having and reached his hand over to grasp his sister’s thigh reassuringly. “If you want to learn, I’d be happy to help you. You’re no fool. You could learn it all if you put your mind to it,” he said firmly, channeling what she imagined was his teacher’s voice as he looked her in the eyes.  
  
Blythe blushed, adorably enough, her scent opening verdantly, smelling like a hothouse in storm season, overflowing with humidity and life. She ate the tart in lieu of giving her brother an answer quite yet. She chewed and swallowed before speaking up. “I… perhaps we could do that sometime, brother. We could… teach each other again so we can teach our students more effectively. I’m sure I have some more tricks I can teach you with the lance for your darling Dimitri,” she said, her voice taking on a loving, teasing lilt before she turned to Flayn as Byleth spluttered just as adorably.

“This tart is delicious, Flayn, did you make them yourself?” she asked, deftly changing topics before Byleth could make a fuss about one of the biggest open secrets in Garreg Mach. Flayn tittered, hand before her mouth.  
  
“Well, I had an eager helper! Lysithea, from the Golden Deer. She has quite the sweet tooth,” she opined, thinking back to her human friend, if she could be called that. She hoped they were. Regardless, both twins nodded in perfect sync, giving an _ah_ in perfect tandem.

“That makes sense. As far as I understand, she and Annette are incorrigible. The chefs in the cafeteria have to keep guard over the pastries every Sunday,” Blythe said in good humor.

“When they’re not baking them themselves evidently,” Byleth volunteered. “Annette and Mercedes both love using the kitchens to make treats, and it seems Lysithea and Flayn are dab hands themselves.”  
  
Blythe nodded sagely. “Perhaps I should invest in some land and grow berries. I’d not be short of customers evidently.”  
  
Byleth nodded sternly in turn. “A wise business decision. If you need an investor, I am interested.”  
  
Flayn snorted at their antics before taking a sip of her tea. “You two, honestly!” she said without heat, delighted by their antics. They were so young, so full of life. It was such a refreshing change of pace compared to her father and Auntie.

She couldn’t wait to see where they would lead them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off, we really reached in and pulled out something ugly from that dark place.
> 
> But with this shorter chapter, we're finally on track for getting back onto our old posting schedule lmao
> 
> Wanna talk about it? We have a discord!  
> https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm  
> (Please know it is an 18+ server)


	30. A Day With a Sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea fulfills her duties, as best as she can.

A part of Rhea asked herself if it was alright to take pleasure in a monster’s pain.  
  
It was heinous, what she was doing; taking pleasure in another’s agony was not something which existed in the natural world. No beast savored the suffering of its prey.  
  
But she did.  
  
Solon was a beast in human flesh and little more, she knew. As he sat in the chair, hot iron burned the truth out of him, his skin sizzled and popped, curling and splitting beneath the red hot weight of the poker pressed to his chest.

“What did you do to Monica, Solon?” she asked, voice smooth and sweet, the same tone of voice she’d use on a student who had misbehaved badly enough to be sent to speak with her. “Ignorance is not an acceptable answer.”

Even his stench was unpleasant. Where he did not smell of bitters, he smelled of acrid sulphur and rot. She had not dealt with humans who could create that scent; only she could give such a smell off, in this age at least.

The thought of whatever unholy experimentation led to him imitating her scent only made the sharp edge of violence crawling beneath her skin all the more eager to show itself.  
  
She was not in her vestments, not down here. No one knew she was here, save for Seteth. He had made sure none of his guards were the wiser when she had been allowed into his room, taking the role of torturer as she was led in, hood up high, and his presence alone ensured no one asked questions, either about her or about the satchel of tools she’d brought with her.

She was in tight, business-like leathers: high boots, a leather apron, and a black facemask hiding her face and hair done up so as to be invisible to the man beneath her hood.

It had been so terribly long since she had been able to find some measure of justice in her darkest urges.

She did not regret her cruelty, even as Solon howled, wept like the human he might have been once. He had done much worse to innocents and for much less reason without a drop of remorse. He deserved no pity, and if he refused to talk, she would make him. She would make him make up the most fanciful falsehoods, desperate to make the pain stop, but she would find the grains of truth in his asinine ramblings, one cut at a time. This was penance.

“Does it hurt, Solon? Do you want me to stop?” she purred and ran a hand down his bloody cheek, glove staining as she replaced the iron rod into the brazier and removing a knife, the edge red and gleaming.  
  
“You just have to tell me what I want to know, Solon. You’re never getting out of here. You’ll be dead long before anyone could punish you for your indiscretions,” she continued, red-hot blade sliding along his shoulder, his neck, his throat, not tight enough to cut, only singe, and burn, the scent of burning flesh briefly overtaking his putrid scent and replacing it with a true fire.

“How are you transforming the humans, Solon? Why do you want manakete blood?” she purred, stepping around him, footsteps echoing strangely in the dampened room. “How are you controlling the beasts?” she added. “Tell me.”  
  
Solon hissed, struggling in his restraints. “As if I’d tell you, _alien,”_ he spat with no shortage of vitriol. “‘Tis your blood; if you can’t figure it out, why should I tell you?”

“Because if you don’t I’ll _hurt_ you, Solon. You play at strength, but I’ve seen you weep at my ministrations; so those rats truly deserve your loyalty at such a steep price?” she asked, voice soothing and hypnotic. She returned the blade to the brazier, replacing it for the rod once more, tip angry and red.

She traced the red-hot rod she held along his cheek, just close enough that he could feel the dry heat, his entire body tensing as he did all he could to remain perfectly still and untouched by the brand.  
  
“Tell me how you control the Beasts, Solon,” she said again, leveling the brand dangerously close to one eye so he had no choice but to stare at it, blinking rapidly to combat the heat.

“Th-the relics. We have relics, and if you use the right one with the proper attunement spell, they can understand rudimentary orders,” he said, voice breathless and eyes wide, staring fearfully into the rod’s baleful, burning eye.

“Good, good,” she said, smiling invisibly behind her mask, pulling the rod away. “Now was that truly so hard? If you keep being so agreeable, perhaps you’ll even get a proper meal, wouldn’t that be nice?” she cooed, savoring the feeling of having so much control over a sworn enemy.

He was hers, now, and she would show him what it meant to cross her. More than that, she’d show him what it meant to cross her _family._ She hadn’t hurt him nearly enough to make up for Flayn’s kidnapping.

“And our blood, sweet Solon? Go on, you can tell me,” she said, tapping the burning rod onto her glove.  
  
They were more for show, really. She was attuned to the fires in much the same way Seteth was to the wind. One of Seiros’s first miracles witnessed was walking through fire unharmed. Best not to let her opponents know her secrets.

“It’s _your blood._ If I have to explain Crests to _you_ of all people, just kill me now,” he spat, vigor seeming to return to him.

Oh, how quickly humans forget.

With a deft, effortless movement the rod was on his eye and he _howled._ She grabbed his skull firmly with her other hand to keep him still, counting as she kept the brand on his eye for ten seconds before pulling it off.

“Oh, Solon,” she sighed. “Why do you insist on such rudeness? It’s like you want me to hurt you.” Even as he moaned in protest, she kept speaking. “Or perhaps you knew this day would come? That after all of your crimes, a monster such as you deserved to suffer? That this is some form of atonement?” she asked, face crinkling with a smile only she was aware of.

“You… are the only monster I see in here,” he hissed, veins on his forehead bulging as he fixed a feverish glare on her. “Kete. Filthy creature, not of this world.” He spat a gob of blood landing on her boot. “I should have killed your little cousin while I had the chance.”

The dragon in her roared.

“What’s that, Solon?” she asked calmly, distantly aware that somehow her red knife was no longer in the brazier and had found its way into his thigh, and that he was howling once more. “What are these words? I asked you about Monica and your methods, and instead you give me misplaced accusations. If you’re trying to get me to hurt you too badly for you to speak, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to work harder. I’ve dealt with your kind for a long, long time, and such poisonous rhetoric is meaningless, particularly from a hypocrite blood-thief like you.”  
  
She pulled the knife out, no blood escaping as it cauterized. The wound looked terrible, and that pleased her in no small way. 

“I must wonder why you are making this difficult for yourself, Solon,” she mused, placing the knife back in the brazier before she looked back at him with slit eyes. “Do you think I’ll grow bored? That eventually I’ll take pity, and leave you to rot down here? Don’t be foolish. This is a genocide you’re a part of, Solon.”

She would leave him no room to argue otherwise. The outcome of his trial had been set long ago.

“You killed Sothis, you murdered everyone in Zanado, and now you want to kill us, all for your own selfish desires. You did not truly believe such actions against _my people_ would go unpunished!?” she accused, her voice rising up to a roar as her own scent overtook his, ash and fire overcoming his putrescent miasma. She reached forward with what could have been a taloned hand and brought his ear to her lips. “I’ll be here until your last, embarrassingly short-lived breath.”

Solon cackled, half-crazed, and his head lolled as he fell bonelessly, held up only by his bindings. “This world was never yours, beast,” he grunted, the pain evidently getting to him. She had been too rough; he was of no use to her as he was. “To think, my life’s work exists only because a cadre of fools thought drinking a beast's blood was a good idea!” he laughed, phlegmy and unpleasant to the ear. “Besides, what foul play is there in using the parts of a beast against them? It is your influence that makes monsters of innocents, not mine.”

Rhea frowned thunderously beneath her mask. That base creature… She hated to admit, he was proving harder to crack than she had hoped. He diverted, distracted her with useless tidbits about the Agarthans without ever answering her questions directly until the force of her question sent him into unconsciousness.  
  
She pulled her accoutrements out of the brazier, dumping them in a bucket of now-hissing water as they cooled. If she had cared about preserving them she would have let them cool naturally, but a few pieces of iron were hardly worth thinking about in the grand scheme of things. She scooped them out, putting them back into her satchel.

Alas, she hadn’t even had the chance to truly tear into him. Perhaps another time, the dragon in her growled. But for now, she needed to control herself. She had other duties.

But, _oh_ , she wanted to tear. She wanted to rip that _heretic_ apart and show him each piece she tore off one by one.

Her hatred lived so deep below the surface, but it was a vital part of her all the same. It was a facet of her passion, and her passion was her love. She could not hate so sincerely if she did not love something commensurately.

She certainly didn’t care too much for herself, but nothing was too great a price to protect Seteth and Flayn, and now the twins.  
  
Oh, the twins…

She left Solon where he lay. The manacles still on his hands and the magical nullification wards around the cell ensured he was no more threatening than the starved, burnt man he was, and there was certainly no thought to his comfort. The chair had a hole in it, perhaps the sole nod to human decency, not that his opinion would have changed if he had been treated like a lordly hostage.

As the door closed behind her, locked at three places by the jailer who went to place the keys in their proper, hidden place once more, all she could think about were the twins.

She shuddered to think of what they would think of her, if they knew what she was doing, what kind of person she was beneath the vestments and the Archbishop’s mask.

Would Blythe, sweet Blythe, who had surreptitiously held tea with her in her brother’s absence shrink away from her, look at her with fear in her eyes? Would her scent sour and turn steely? Would she keep her children away, speak to her only when necessary?  
  
Byleth of course, would offer nothing. She would simply have proved him right, that she was a beast who cared nothing for the humans in her care. She didn’t doubt he would take a certain pleasure in the vindication and in having his sister return to him, apologetic and shamefaced at her mistake in consorting with a monster such as her.

She was lying to them, even now, as if any Kete would join a pack with her as its leader, lying and torturing… She couldn’t show her true face to them, not ever. The long millennia had made a monster of her. For relative strangers to see the kind of beast the Archbishop was unvarnished… she’d be thankful if they ever spoke to her again.  
  
The assassin’s mask on her face felt more true than the one she wore around the monastery in those dark moments, and the passages that let Rhea slip unseen through the bowels of the monastery more of a home than her stately chambers. They took her to a quiet place where she was able to change into the light garb she had kept in a separate pocket of her satchel. Not the whole of her regalia, of course. Though the Archbishop strove to be picturesque, even Rhea was known to walk the grounds more casually on the rare occasion, and she had too much staining her now to don her regalia without cleansing herself properly. 

It was a moot point mercifully. Moving quickly and silently, she’d made it to her chambers with only a few trusted eyes seeing her.

It was once she closed and locked the door behind her that the reconstruction had to begin piece by piece for the Archbishop to be reborn beginning with a thorough bath in her private rooms. Scented oils that made her sensitive nose wrinkle from the sheer force of the scents which were not her own soaked into the waters as she removed all the signs of the dark works which had stained her. She dried her hair as she carefully clipped and shaved her nails where they had sharpened, and a colored polish hid the true white of her claws which had begun to speckle them.

She brushed her hair and styled it with the veritable mountain of pins that served as the first step in ensuring her headdress held as it was meant to. She followed it up with more splashes of false scents to appear approachable and pleasant and managed to get into her dress unassisted, as with all of her personal grooming. The humans would believe it was a measure of humbleness and piety and not simply for security’s sake. It was only with her hair done like this that she could be certain no one would see her ears for what they were, let alone any other more subtle signs.

She applied her make-up, face still as a statue’s as small brushes and powders gave her a glow she never had in her youth, and with that the Archbishop had returned to them, her darkness sequestered to the back of her mind where it belonged. With practiced motions she donned her headdress, and to all the world she knew she would look like the Archbishop, the pretty thing so much more well-loved than Seiros ever would be. 

The children were… doing _something_ , Seteth had mentioned. Singing, dancing, or something like that. Oh, right; the White Heron. She had not attended in so long, despite being the one to found it. Their final event was later today, and though she was not expected, Seteth had encouraged her to go and see them. She hadn’t had the wherewithal to contest it.

It seemed farcical now with how the twins had so expertly picked up her slack, caring for all three houses effortlessly, as she may have at one point. They cared for the children, kept them happy, made them strong — everything she should have been doing but hadn’t. Not with all that had been happening. With Lonato, the Western Church’s uprising, the Demonic Beasts, and now Solon… she had been swamped simply trying to ensure the Church’s representatives were being given the resources needed to respond to each threat. Food and coin for refugees and Knights both, marching orders, scouts surveying the state of the continent, the wandering order of mendicant healers pressed into service to those hardest hit — it was all too much to deal with children on top of it.

In truth, this odious event was the first time she’d left her building in what felt like weeks. She was tired, but she could not afford to be. No one else could do this, no one else _should_ do this. At least when she was there, being the Archbishop, even a monster can do some good.

She had made mistakes, more than she could count, for reasons good, foolish and even outright repulsive, but she could still bring some good into this world and make Mother proud. She had to believe she’d be proud, that she’d come back one day, caress her cheek like she had when she was but a girl and say “ _You did well, Seiros._ ” Her traitorous, fragile heart needed to believe that.

That thought simply led her down yet another tangent, filled with guilt and failures. Her children. She hadn’t spoken to Catherine or Cyril in weeks, and they missed her, she was sure. Catherine was off near the Adrestian border with Jeralt at the moment, but Cyril… she could spare the boy a few moments at least. If she could bring him at least a bit of happiness, maybe… she didn’t know. Maybe she’d have made someone happy today. Goddess knew she didn’t seem to do that much lately.

She knew the… _recital_ , she supposed, was meant to start soon, but her mind was made up. She kept an eye out for Cyril, sniffing out the scent of amber and dates. He was such an industrious lad, and he was almost old enough that she would have to introduce him to Jeralt properly. Cyril’s devotion and work ethic alone made him, to her mind, a candidate for Knight-Commander a few decades on.

She spotted him finally in the greenhouse, perched precariously on a ladder and… scrubbing the window panes? She stepped into the building. “Cyril? Is that you, dear?” she inquired gently, hoping not to spook him in his delicate position.

The response was immediate. “Oh! L-lady Rhea!?” he called, almost in disbelief, sliding down the ladder with practiced ease to stand at attention in front of her, not even breathing heavily. “H-how can I serve, my Lady?” he inquired, tone filled with respectful adoration she didn’t deserve.  
  
All the same, she put on the Archbishop’s smile: a slight upturning of lips with a crinkle of the eyes. She kneeled down to his level, looking him in the eyes. “I don’t need anything, Cyril. We simply had not spoken in quite a long time,” she said gently. “How are you doing, young man?”  
  
Cyril all but preened at the gentle praise, eyes shining, sugar and dates flooding the greenhouse with an undercurrent of amber. A good smell. “I’m doing well Lady Rhea! Just working!” he said, chipper and cheery.  
  
“I can see that!” she enthused, clapping her hands to match his energy, smile growing warmer. “Who told you to clean the panes though, Cyril? They don’t need it, as far as I know.”  
  
“Oh, that’s just me, my Lady. I’d finished my chores early, and well… the spots I noticed bothered me, so I thought I’d scrub them clean,” he said, almost shame-faced, and he scratched at his cheek awkwardly.

What a hard-working boy. She was thankful to have him, and so she pulled him close into a warm hug, nuzzling her scent into him possessively. “Thank you, sweet Cyril,” she breathed, hand resting on his back gently before letting him go and smiling at him once more. He was quite a few shades darker now. “You work so hard. Please don’t overtax yourself. I can withstand some spotted window panes if it means you are healthy and happy, dear.”  
  
Cyril flushed darker still, the scent of amber darkening his scent, making a lovely mixture with her scent, calm as it was. It smelled of the incense she burned in her chambers, sandalwood to mask the harshness of her when she was in a mood. Amber and sandalwood… “I need to be useful…” was all he managed, voice small, not meeting her eyes. 

She frowned, lifting his chin with a finger so that he met her eyes. “I don’t need someone who will work themself to death, Cyril. You are a valuable member of Garreg Mach, and we take care of our own,” she said firmly, pale eyes staring into his wide golden ones. “You are precious to me, Cyril. I appreciate you, but you do not need to worry about earning your keep in such a way,” she soothed gently, reading his scent to gain an insight into his worries. “You are still young, and deserve to enjoy your youth. The window panes are not going anywhere, Cyril. Would you care to join me and see the White Heron Cup?”

She had surprised herself with the offer but did not regret it. Cyril’s eyes widened impossibly further, seeming to take up most of his face as he gasped. “But Lady Rhea, I’m—”  
  
“You’re what, Cyril? Finished with your chores? A valued member of my staff? You’re not weaseling out so easily, young man,” she teased gently.

Cyril’s shoulders fell, defeated. “I’ve nothing to wear, my Lady,” he murmured, embarrassed. “I don’t want to look shabby next to you.”

Her heart squeezed painfully at the admission. “Oh, Cyril… Don’t worry about such things. What one wears is the lowest form of judgment. You are a lovely young man, whether you’re in brocades and velvets or in your clean cottons. Why, just look at Seteth!” she continued in an impression of some perceived straw man as she gently squeezed his shoulders. “He’s in his simple robes and yet he is my most trusted advisor. Don’t let the trappings of the Archbishop scare you, sweetling.” She smiled, relieved to feel the scent of sugar returning to his scent. “Your heart is the only thing I care about.”

Cyril seemed to loosen at that, meeting her eyes. “If it pleases you, Lady Rhea, let me put away the ladder first, please?” he asked, like the polite gentleman he was.  
  
She smiled, standing back to her full height and nodding. “Of course,” she said happily, watching him bustle busily, placing the (very tall) ladder back to its proper place in a corner of the greenhouse effortlessly. 

“Shall we away then, Cyril?” she said, offering her elbow when he returned, and the young man eagerly looped his arm through.

“O-of course, Lady Rhea! Lead the way,” he said, scrubbing at an imagined speck of dust on his cheek. 

And with that, they were off. Cyril followed her carefully, watching his feet and doing his level best to match her pace, which she had slowed for his benefit. They walked in silence, and while she was sure Cyril was still quite nervous, she left him to his musings, certain he would appreciate a bit of quiet as he prepared himself.

When they had arrived at the reception hall, things were already in full swing it seemed. One of the more junior classes, those younger than the three Houses were putting forth their best, each offering up their performances for that particular level of competition. A pang struck her as she and Cyril quietly took a seat near the back of the reception hall, the two of them thankfully going unnoticed, at least for now. She could see the twins in the front row with Flayn, Seteth, Manuela, and Hanneman in their own seating area meant for judges. 

It reminded her of Zanado as most things did. It reminded her of their dances for the moon, each student dancing with passion as they were accompanied, expressing their feelings with their bodies rather than their voices. It was perhaps the closest humans could get to understanding the manakete fixation on scents. To allow one’s body to express one’s feelings… it was a rare thing in the human world, which so often encouraged stillness, hiding one’s emotions, offering only the barest hint of one’s intent through paltry words.  
  
In Zanado she had been celebrated for her wildness, called the true spirit of Fire, her passion and sincerity prized and cherished, not least of which because whatever she said, she said with the whole of her being, with her mouth, her scent, her body and heart. There was no lying in her in those days.

And now here she was… an inveterate deceiver, beholden to stillness, silence, speaking only to those deaf to her scent. The truest she had been to herself in what felt like true, literal ages of history had been when she had tortured one of her enemies.  
  
Her eyes stung. She hated what she’d become.  
  
“Are you enjoying the show, Lady Rhea?” whispered Cyril from next to her. With a start, she realized she had been glaring at the stage.  
  
“Of course, Cyril,” she said, quickly mastering her expression. “It is merely beautiful to see such artistry. I am thankful we have kept such traditions alive.”

Cyril said nothing at that, simply looking back to the stage as the student was given his final score. It looked as if they had been the final student from the junior classes performing, as a few moments later all the students from that grade were called, and the winner gifted with a lovely trophy chased in blue. Or, at least she felt it was.

The participants were cheered off the stage with polite applause and some more raucous behavior from their classmates. It was Seteth however who silenced them with an upraised hand as he stepped onto the small stage they had built for the occasion.  
  
“Next is the competition among some of Garreg Mach’s best and brightest, in our illustrious Officer’s Academy. For our first competitor, we call forth the representative from the Blue Lions House!” he said with a stately projected voice, quickly leaving the stage as a small young man ran up onto the stage, eyes sharp and — she could sense — a bit nervous as well. 

So this was Byleth’s representative, was it? He did not look like much at first glance, but she was sure he would be exemplary, for Byleth would accept no less.

He was in an understated outfit. Simply garbed, he had the look of a Faerghus noble at his leisure, a white dress shirt with buttons and cravat undone and without a coat, which was such a rarity for people from that cold region. His pants were black and tight, reaching halfway down his calf, and he wore dancer’s slippers. He took a ready position, and waited. 

When the music started, he slid into action, his movements flowing and almost languid as the mezzo-piano of the piece slowly pulled him along, as if without him even being conscious of his steps, eyes glazed and flat as he stared into the middle distance.

It was a queer performance. His movements were lovely, smooth and elegant, stepping deftly and confidently in perfect sync to the song. She could clearly see how each step was meant to land at a specific point on the stage, the boy not missing a single mark, leaping with seemingly effortless grace as he responded to the music, his tight dancer’s trousers showing off the muscle beneath. And yet he moved as if he were a doll. She sensed little passion from his movements, only perfect control over his body. Such was no small feat, but to see him dance after remembering the bonfires of Zanado was supremely strange, as his dance was so divorced from emotion.

All the same, there was no question as to the technical skill with which he performed, earning high marks across the board. It seemed Manuela had recused herself from the judging for this round, simply observing to the side. She was, after all, the leader of one of the houses. A fourth judge appeared in the form of Shamir. Perhaps not the most traditional choice, but she was sure to at least offer a valid opinion.

She could hardly imagine Gilbert being willing to offer up his services for such an event, and he was the only other person of any significant rank in Garreg Mach.

With a stiff bow, the boy whom she vaguely recalled was the Fraldarius’s heir ran offstage into the waiting arms of a few of his classmates. It was a sad business with the untimely passing of the heir-apparent some time ago, though from what she could sense of the boy, he seemed by no means a pale replacement.

The Tragedy still stank to her on many levels. She _had_ to know what was going on at all levels of society, and the Tragedy had destabilized much of Faerghus, not to mention Duscur. It was a messy business, almost tailor-made to cause the fallout it did.  
  
The fact that despite using all of Aelfric’s spy network she could find no sign of the Queen Consort Patricia in the wake of it was suspicious in the extreme. She was almost certain she knew who the guilty party truly was in this modern day. Another useless tidbit given to her by Solon instead of what she wanted, but she’d use it all the same. 

She would have to find a way to disseminate some of the information therein to Dimitri. He’d doubtless want to know, and ensuring his cooperation in the times ahead would be invaluable. The real challenge was giving the information to Dimitri without angering Byleth. She doubted he’d tolerate any such interaction with the Prince, particularly for such selfish reasons, as she would simply prove him right in using his pack member so transparently.

But damn that boy, she _needed_ this. She refused to let the Agarthans get the upper hand, especially now with her two aces. She couldn’t risk losing them— her heart couldn’t take any more loss. One more, and she would simply disappear into the mountains somewhere. 

Perhaps she’d nest in Sreng, or Morfis. They’d come for her in time, but… perhaps for a time she could at least be herself.

She kept her face carefully blank as the next competitor stepped forward, this time from the Golden Deer. Oh, he was such a slight thing, too… all skin and bones. His outfit was much more provocative and alarmingly reminiscent of her memories.

The boy’s green locks were slicked back smartly, face done up in stage make-up, strong and visible even from where she was in the back. He wore a tight, sleeveless top once more in white, but for the addition of many bangles, rings and other pieces of jewelry affixed to his arms and wrists with almost gleeful abandon. Despite the showiness, his “sleeves” were striking and gleamed even in the low light of the hall. His pants were much more subdued, though, a plain black without ornamentation save for what appeared to be a few toe rings polished to a fiery gleam. He was barefoot.

Their song was… quite the departure from the Lions’ waltz, so focused on flowing movements and careful acrobatics. It was fiery, clearly inspired by Almyran street music, filled with percussion and strings as opposed to the stately piano of the Lions.

In the distance, she could actually make out none other than Claude von Riegan joyously striking a drum with the heel of his palm, and quite expertly from what she’d seen of Almyran entertainment in the many visits she’d made to the region over the centuries. What a strange thing for the boy to seem to know so well… she’d have to make note of that. Alongside him were a few of the other Deer cheerfully playing along, eliciting a riotous atmosphere.

The boy’s dance was artless, but passionate. The gleaming of his bangles, the gravity-defying way he tumbled across the stage was enough to get her blood pumping a bit faster with its passion. She noticed Cyril seemed to be delighted, eyes gleaming as he sat up in his seat. His hands fisted in front of his chest as the boy did various flips and tumbles, using his hands almost as much as his feet as he seemed to fight valiantly to keep up with the song’s demanding beat. She could see even from here the sweat that was soaking through his thin shirt and gleaming on his forehead, chest like a bellows as he moved from one acrobatic leap into the next deft twist and tumble.

It was a riotous display, the boy’s bangles and jewelry playing expertly in the light, catching and reflecting it, making him seem a force that gave off its own light. It was a truly striking effect.  
  
It seemed the routine was just a bit too much for the boy, though. Near the end of his dance, regrettably he slipped on one of his cartwheels, landing heavily on his elbow, leaving him limping for the last 30 seconds of his routine. That would not reflect well on his score, she knew.

All the same, while not as clean and textbook as the Lion’s performance, she had to admit the Deer’s performance was much more striking to her mind, even if at points it hardly even seemed choreographed. The sheer energy of the performance was a rare treat she very much enjoyed.

However, the judges did not seem to agree. While he certainly received points for the passion and energy put into the number, he lost points for his fall and for the chaotic choreography. All the same, the boy seemed exhausted yet sated as he went back to the Deer’s chairs put aside from them all, the students who had played instruments cheering the boy’s name, Ignatz, as they walked back to the chairs, banging their drums happily.

It was a sweet scene, she thought with a sad smile.

“I really liked that song they played,” Cyril said excitedly, still practically vibrating from the energy of the number. She patted him on the head fondly, ruffling his hair.  
  
“I did too, dear,” she affirmed, turning her smile on him, a touch more genuine.

With another blush and burst of amber, he turned to look at the stage once more as Seteth announced that next would be the Black Eagles’ representative, Blythe’s representative.

She looked stunning, she had to admit, and this one she recognized. A rare merit admittance, Dorothea Arnault’s scores and natural aptitudes had put her into the top percentages of the academy, and she had proven their faith to be well-placed. Commoner or not, her skills ensured that if she stayed on her intended path and joined the military that she would be one of Adrestia’s top brass in short order.

She stood in a stunning red dress, off-the-shoulder and admirably showing off her assets. Despite the low cut, she was by all accounts striking and would be allowed entry to any party on the continent. She was garbed in the Eagles’ red with black detailing, her green eyes gleaming even from where she sat in the back rows. Her legs were hidden, though her skirt seemed the type that would flow well in twirls. A bold move, wearing so long a skirt for a dance. It very nearly dragged along the floor. All the same, she seemed as if she had been born on that stage, having walked up and taken her mark without so much as a breath of nervousness she could sense.

When the music finally started, she was pleased to immediately recognize it as a different genre entirely, a fiery cadence she knew to be from Southern Adrestia. From a simple stand, she matched the first beat perfectly, stomping a foot out decisively and revealing the fact that she was wearing dark red heels, two or three inches from the look of them.  
  
She didn’t even know if they had rules surrounding that sort of attire and how much more difficult it made a routine, but she was certain rules were about to be made now for such a bold decision. She looked upon Miss Arnault with all attention, quite accountably excited to see what she had to offer. 

On the next full beat, she was off, twirling and leaping across the stage, deftly manipulating her long dress with her hands, making it dance along with her as she moved through complicated step patterns, sliding and leaping into deft, tightly-timed pirouettes with incredible grace.

The look in her eyes was as fiery as the song itself, and Rhea loved it. She could feel the passion in her movements, how focused and committed she was to making sure each and every movement was perfect. This woman would go far no matter what she did, and she knew it. Rhea could feel herself leaning forward in her seat, transfixed by her every movement, her split-jumps, her spins, her step patterns that seemed to fit so seamlessly into the music…

She knew who was the winner well before Miss Arnault was finished, never so much as hesitating as she worked tirelessly through the doubtlessly demanding routine _all in heels._ She was frankly gobsmacked. She had no idea what kind of regiment Blythe had her on, but to say it had borne fruit was an understatement.

When she finally finished, the crowd erupted into applause, and it was clear the competition had already been decided. The judge’s cards went up, and even Seteth simply shook his head in disbelief as he offered her a perfect score and described his bemused amazement at her decision to perform such a difficult program in heels.

She simply smiled, a trifle smugly as she bowed, first to the judges and then to the audience as Seteth stepped back onstage bearing the true Heron Cup with Dorothea waiting patiently in the wings. 

After an admittedly perfunctory announcement thanking the competitors with Seteth clearly wanting to be elsewhere the entire time, he announced Dorothea’s victory, to excited applause, the Black Eagles erupting into joyous chorus as Dorothea stepped back onstage, the picture of poise as she accepted the award, nodding respectfully and stepping offstage only to be bowled over by her classmates.

The houses slowly converged as Seteth made his way back, having clearly caught sight of her headdress at some point.

“Lady Rhea,” he said politely, nodding towards her as he stepped up.  
  
“Seteth,” she returned politely. “Quite the event, wasn’t it?”  
  
“It was. The Black Eagles’ representative was impressive indeed, though all of the students brought something unique and interesting to the competition,” he said in his roundabout way, heaping praise behind layers of abstraction.

“I agree. I’m very glad I attended,” she admitted with a small smile. She turned to Cyril, looking down at him fondly. “And you, Cyril? How did you enjoy the Officer’s Academy’s performance?”  
  
Cyril flushed again, amber strong enough for both she and Seteth no doubt, childish adoration filling their lungs. “I liked it a lot,” he said, still trying to find his courage even now. “I liked the Deer song the best, though.”

Seteth made a thoughtful noise. “Ah, yes. It was Almyran in origin. Some of their music is quite energetic like that, and I know Lady Rhea is fond of it,” he said, nodding at Rhea in an almost conspiratorial way, making her hide her face behind her hand as she stifled a polite giggle. 

“I do,” she admitted. “I have been in the region a few times for various proceedings and was always delighted by the entertainment I would sometimes be provided.”

She gave another wistful sigh and allowed the semblance of a real smile — a weak, wry thing — to peek through her carefully manicured façade, earning her somewhat concerned looks from Cyril and Seteth in turn. “It was nice to partake in something simple and pure again,” she said softly before walking away with the weight her crown brought. She left Cyril and Seteth behind without another word.

She wished she could go and congratulate the children, shake Blythe’s hand and congratulate Byleth and all of the other students. Perhaps Manuela as well. Instead she headed back towards her paperwork. She wished she could have joined them with all her heart. But she knew what she was.

She didn’t know when people had begun to expect her to only speak to them with ulterior motives. Perhaps they were right to believe so. She’d just earlier considered how best to manipulate the Crown prince to join her cause without speaking to him.

She didn’t understand what exactly it was she had become. Her heart ached, and she knew she deserved the pain she felt. 

She was so tired.

Despite that, she didn’t stop walking. Her back was straight, shoulders poised, every inch the Archbishop. This was who she had to be. This was what she had to do.

After all, her duties were many, and her penance walk would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as ever, everyone! Comment and kudos are always appreciated. If you'd like to come say hi, visit our discord! The more the merrier, but please keep in mind it's an 18+ discord for safety reasons. https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm


	31. A Magical Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Ball occurs.

All Claude could really do was be thankful that things had calmed down over the last while.

The last month or two had been slower from what he could tell. There were fewer missions and no more demonic beasts or crazy conspiracies in secret undercities, so he supposed the bar had been set fairly low.

Not that Claude minded or anything. Adventure was fun and all, but he really didn’t like how he’d nearly died a few times there, you know, along with everybody else.

At least it’d given him some time to make some progress on his personal projects. His work on the Agarthans was coming along, and Yuri was proving good to his word. The breakthrough was realizing that weird event Hilda had told him about in the library had to do with them.

Their new prisoner, it seemed, _was_ an Agarthan from what Yuri had been able to piece together after the fiasco at Remire. A shapeshifting mad scientist type had driven the villagers mad and turned them into Demonic Beasts, according to Yuri’s sources.

That little tidbit had been enough to connect... a lot of dots in Claude’s theories. No wonder Rhea was worried about these weirdos if they were the ones behind the Beasts and Remire, and considering how old some of the documents he’d filched from Abyss were, this wasn’t a new issue by any means. It definitely recontextualized a lot of the Church’s stranger doctrines over the years. If there was some sort of weird shadow war going on with these Agarthans, who seemed to have some crazy knowledge no one else had, he… didn’t know what that meant for the Church’s role over the centuries, which till now he’d just been bluntly contemptuous of in his own privacy.

But he wasn’t here to understand the why of the Church’s behavior over the years. He had no interest in playing apologist for the Church’s sometimes objectively ridiculous bannings. He was here to figure out what the deal was with these Agarthans.  
  
After a few more delves into the darkest parts of Abyss’s archives, he thought he’d found something, too. He’d managed to unravel a bit more of the Agarthan script, and he found what were probably some of the oldest pieces in the Abyss, the kind of agedness that needed gloves to handle. Thankfully Yuri’d donated a corner of his room to keep the more sensitive and dubiously legal tomes safe and untouched as he looked them over.

Hilda had also been growing worried about him. She knew about his work in broad strokes at least, understood how important it was, but she’d expressed concern over the long nights he’d been having. Between his responsibilities above ground and his late nights researching and talking with Yuri, the bags under his eyes were undeniable. She’d even given him a cream she said helped with that. (And it did, so he’d gotten her some pretty beads from the market as a thank you.)

His time with the spy had proven… illuminating, in more ways than one.

He hadn’t really gotten a chance to interact with Yuri during the initial debacle with the Chalice, but they were in surprisingly close quarters now. Every few weeks he came back for a day or two with new information, and the two worked in the Wolves’ former classroom trying to figure out the secrets that ran beneath even Abyss.

It filled them both with a heady rush. Whatever was going on with the Agarthans and the Church, it went _deep_. They were onto something big. Really big. Change the world big. If Yuri had only been doing it to get a favor, he sure wasn’t now.

And if Claude had been dealing with Yuri simply for information, that wasn’t the case any longer either.

The man was… exciting, stimulating in a weird way. He was sharp-tongued, witty, brutally intelligent, and three steps ahead of everyone else, and Claude truly felt he’d met a kindred spirit in him.

Once, on a lark, he’d brought a bag of black and white square blocks and dumped them clattering onto the chess board Yuri kept in his room — because of _course_ Yuri liked chess — and with a rakish smile and raised eyebrow, he’d invited him to take a break and play some Almyran chess with him. That wasn’t the name, obviously, but likely what anyone from Fódlan might know it as.

Then Yuri pulled out a fat bottle of something brown and vile and two shot glasses, saying they needed to keep things interesting, and then they’d lost the whole night playing round after round with the winner taking a shot as “handicap.” Claude first beat him handily, but grew steadily more amazed as Yuri continued to innovate with more and more advanced techniques and stealing a few wins even as the two of them grew steadily sloppier, throwing barbs and witticisms, cheeks growing flushed as they stacked the blocks on top of each other and moved them across the board trying to make the play that would prove they were better than the other.

It was only when Claude was flicked in the nose after nodding off waiting for a move that he realized he should probably rest. And probably drink some water. Yuri had even pulled his stumbling ass up because he hadn’t even been good enough to beat him at his drunkest.

He’d taken his arm over his shoulder, dragging him back to the dorms without a word of complaint as Claude giggled, and said next time they should play Adrestian chess instead so he could return the favor and bring him to bed, cackling at his own little joke.

He hadn’t realized that Yuri hadn’t protested until he was already in bed, having chugged almost a whole pitcher of water and sobered up a bit.

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

What that meant for the complicated snarl of feelings he held towards the twins, well, that didn’t merit thinking about. It’d be foolish to go after a professor as openly as Edelgard had no matter how sly she thought she was being. He still didn’t know how she’d managed to swing that or how Seteth hadn’t put a stop to it once the rumor mill got spinning and he’d had to swallow the urge to ask for his own purposes. Whatever signals Blythe had given him, she was taken now and Byleth had his prince, so naturally they were off the table even if he’d been willing to take the risk..

By the time that snow was falling, Claude was running on fumes, but never felt better despite it. Yes, there was a lot of tea — strong, thick Almyran tea that only he could stomach — but he found Yuri preferred coffee. He’d even been brave enough to ask Hubert what kinds were good and got him a big bag to keep him sharp while they worked on their models and timelines. He got Hubert a smaller one in thanks for the advice, surprised and a bit unsettled by the sincere thanks the grim man had offered.  
  
He was making progress. Great progress. He’d tried to find a way in to interview the Agarthan, but to say the Knights were keeping guard on him was the understatement of the century . It took a lot of careful work to even find his cell and one peek around the corner to know there was no way he was going to get in. Between the guards, the lock, and everything else, it didn’t get more impregnable than that for his purposes. Whoever that guy was, he wasn’t just someone with information. He had to be _dangerous,_ too. And high-value, which meant he just _had_ to find a way in.

The twins seemed to be doing better, too. The rumor mill — and Hilda — had kept track of them, and it seemed like they were growing closer again after... whatever spat they’d had around the Abyss incident. But to be fair, if _Claude’s_ brother had run off with his girlfriend and risked his life against a crazy dragon monster, he’d probably be pretty put out too.

Claude looked out of his window, watching the snow as it fell beautifully onto the courtyard and covered everything in white. It really was beautiful, provided he could keep a window between him and the chill. His blood was too thin to actually deal with it, so he was perfectly fine seeing it from a distance. It seemed surreal, though. The world itself seemed to sleep, the quiet so all-encompassing in a way that he’d never experienced in Almyra.

The city around the palace had been so loud, so hot, so stifling that even existing seemed like it was a violation of someone else’s space. The heat was exhausting, the people so close to you, touching you, their conversations overheard no matter how one tried to avoid it. It was a hotbed of cloying social interaction that he had been raised in, and even shone in, if he allowed himself to be cocky, just as the sun did in its long trek across the sky.

But here in Garreg Mach, it was a stark difference. When he’d left class one day, the sun had already set, and as one of the last people out, he’d finally been alone. It had been so quiet as the snow fell. His cheeks had been cold and the silence so powerful, so all-encompassing that his mind, always rushing, always processing and thinking and preparing for anything and everything had finally gone blissfully silent. There were no voices demanding his attention, no rustle of leaves, no sounds of work being done, and he was finally alone with himself.

He did _not_ like the cold, but he did like winter.

When he’d first heard of the idea of a winter ball, he’d scoffed, thinking it foolish to have a party when you couldn’t even go outside for fresh air, but despite his spirited objection to the very concepts of snow and ice, he was beginning to see that there was a certain appeal to the thought.

Winter in Fódlan brought out the best of what it had to offer besides the quiet. Many of its holidays came during the period where the nights were long, and that meant the best of the food from the harvest and summer-fattened animal stock alike, the opening of the keg stores, not to mention the lights that adorned the halls of noble and pauper alike. Then there were the high holidays where there would be prayers and the exchanging of gifts, which was something he had been conscious of as those nights approached. So he had good reason to be excited.

And that was how he’d ended up carefully preparing his clothes, donning the capelet that marked him house leader with all the care he could muster. For once, he didn’t have pressing issues to spy over. Perhaps he could even have fun at the party, this once. Dance with Hilda and Lorenz, anyone who felt like it, have some wine… forget about the conspiracy theory he and Yuri were unearthing for an evening.

It would just be him, his winter finery, and a night to remember, he reminded himself as he stood at the doors of the reception hall. Nothing big.

Well, it might be kind of big, he realized as the knights opened the doors into the hall, decorated from floor to ceiling in pine, rich velvets, and lights for the most important event of the year. Everyone dressed like it, too. He couldn’t see a single person who wasn’t either in the absolute best velvet that they could afford or furs of an animal some noble had hunted for sport to have turned into a cloak or some such. If anyone had been saving, then now was the time to splurge.

“Now presenting His Highness Claude von Riegan,” came a voice as he descended the stairs. He hadn’t expected any sort of majordomo, but he supposed that if there would be one at all, tonight would be the night.

This wasn’t going to be like any of the other events Garreg Mach had hosted up until this point. This was some prime expenditure. No half measures here, all stops pulled out. Still, he would have appreciated an advance warning or something. Not that he wasn’t used to people staring. He’d had to get used to that as a child for how his green eyes had given him the mark of an outsider.

He’d been careful to groom his appearance here in his mother’s homeland, but he wondered if any of the eyes here could spot any tells he’d missed.

He wondered which of them Yuri had found.

The garb of the various students was certainly striking. Unlike what they wore during class, the students were dressed in their various regional styles, from furs sure to be warm enough their owners could sleep outside tonight to silks layered in almost chromatic displays of crepe-paper delicacy.  
  
It was unlike anything he’d seen in the Almyran court, something that he found himself almost lamenting for. Duke Riegan had been kind enough to send him something fashionable to wear, if not overtly Leicster along any possible avenue. Anything to conceal from when he’d come.  
  
But that was neither here nor there, he thought as he buried down a sigh. Many pairs danced in the Faerghan ballroom style, which he’d never really tried, but he was sure he could figure it out if he had to. Even Leonie seemed to be giving it her best with the help of the Galatea girl from the Blue Lions as well as the two girls from the Ashen Wolves house in their own more remote corner. Thankfully for him though, it seemed Lorenz was nearby speaking with Ferdinand and Hubert as he delicately nibbled at some sort of hors d’oeuvre off of the dance floor.

“Hey, Lorenz,” he called, catching the man’s attention as he finished his snack and excused himself from his company. “Some party, huh?” 

“Indeed it is, Claude. It seems everyone who’s anyone is attending, save for Rhea,” he stated as his eyes swept across the sea of people. “Seteth, young Flayn, even Knight-Captain Jeralt and Thunderbrand Catherine are here, among others.”  
  
“Well, makes sense, right? It’s the Winter Ball. You all seem to like ‘em,” he said thoughtlessly as he caught sight of Blythe and Byleth sharing a dance in the center of the crowd, floating effortlessly along, their expressions relaxed and bearing gentle smiles, even if Byleth shot a look at his feet every now and again. They all had their tells.

“‘You all?’ You’re from the Alliance, Claude. Have you never attended a Winter Ball?” asked Lorenz quizzically. Shit. 

“Nah, not really my thing. Gramps didn’t force me, and I didn’t really feel like dealing with a bunch of stuffed shirts who just wanted to cozy up to my name until I had to,” he answered quickly. It might not have been the whole truth, but then the best lies had a bit in them.  
  
“Hm. Well, fair enough I suppose. Even were I of such an inclination, I think I would make an exception for the Winter Ball, at least. It’s the high-water mark of polite society’s yearly events after all,” Lorenz lectured. 

Well, he supposed it was true enough. If anyone’d know, it’d be their resident... _socialite_ , to put it politely . But for how hoity-toity Lorenz could be at times, he really did know his way around courtly etiquette and all that rot.  
  
Claude wasn’t bad either, but Lorenz treated it like a passion. If he weren’t a noble himself Claude would’ve asked him to be his chamberlain in a heartbeat. Which spoon to eat what with, how to address different types of nobility, what colors for which house, coded courtly subtextual languages, Lorenz knew all of it. He trusted him implicitly when it came to this sort of stuff.  
  
“So with that said, anything I should know about so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth besides basic party etiquette?” Claude asked casually, spotting Dimitri dancing with the Galatea girl and then Edelgard on her second dance with Hubert. Nothing groundbreaking, he guessed not enough wine had flowed for people to start having proper fun yet.

“Mmm, no, not really. You’re expected to dance once or twice at least, but I imagined that was on your list,” he said, with a sort of delicate smirk that made Claude’s eyes narrow.  
  
“Yeah? …Why’s that?” he asked, voice pitching lower in suspicion.  
  
“I’m friends with Hilda too, Claude, if you think she’ll keep her mouth shut about your interest in the Professors Eisner, you’re sadly mistaken.” He gave a good-natured chuckle that still didn’t sit well with him. Traitors. “For your benefit and reference, it’s perfectly common for teachers to dance with students at any Church-delegated event here at Garreg Mach. Perhaps this is your chance,” he said before walking off to flag down one of the serving staff for what looked like a tiny meat pie.

...Well, he supposed he should have seen that coming. He sighed. 

How mortifying. He knew he hadn’t been the most subtle when it came to those two, but having Lorenz call him on it was a new low. All the same, he was a slave to his desires. The twins had finished their dances, and were now moving onto their own house leaders, Blythe dancing with Edelgard and proving she was an important part of their win.

They were beautiful, dancing like that. Blythe and Edelgard were dancing so closely, arms wrapped around each other, lips moving silently while Byleth and Dimitri stood awkwardly next to each other, color on their cheeks as both were too afraid to make the first move.

They were all such lovestruck fools, it made his heart ache.

And then Byleth stepped away from Dimitri, bowing awkwardly as he attempted to make his escape off the ballroom floor.

Oh, but this could be fun, he thought with a grin as he made his way over to intercept him.

“Good evening, Professor. May I have this dance?” Claude asked as he stopped in front of Byleth, whose eyes grew wider than he had ever seen them go, which he would take as an accomplishment for how little the man emoted.

“Actually, I—” Byleth began and tried to go around him to the safety of the crowd, but Claude cut him off once more.

“And leave poor Dimitri like that? Tsk tsk, Professor. You really should go back and remedy that before— Oh, and he’s already dancing with… some junior academy girl who’s much too short for him,” Claude said, tutting as he shook his head. “Well, my card isn’t full yet, so I can help you out.”

“I don’t really think that’s necessary, Claude, I’m really fine—”

“C’mon, I insist,” he said, taking Byleth by the arm and spinning him out onto the dancefloor.

Goddess above, he really did have a reason to have been looking at his feet like he had before. Claude had never met anyone who merited the description of two left feet, especially from someone as adept in martial stance as he was. He was constantly stepping too wide or onto Claude’s toes, which made him want to flinch, but he would bit the inside of his cheek to grin and bear it just for the flush that the man seemed to be fighting with whatever other available part of his brain that was left after ensuring they didn’t both tumble to the floor.

It was endearing in a way that Claude was hesitant to name, but one that he found he wanted to.

“Byleth, look at me,” he said, making his eyes, blue in ways Claude felt weren’t possible, snap up to meet his. “It’s just a waltz. It’s easy. Just count to three and then step.”

“Right,” Byleth muttered, though he didn’t seem any less convinced for how hard he swallowed.

Claude did notice the distinct lack of foot injuries, though. He could be thankful for that.

If he were a more careless person, Claude might have called the dance romantic for how close they were and how Byleth had let him lead. But even with his arm around his waist, he was a cautious person, and so he would simply enjoy it as a dance and nothing more. Not until he was shown some indicator that it could be more.

Eventually, the music called for them to spin apart, a signal to change partners, and he found himself met with Blythe, who seemed to be just as surprised as he was.

And yet she hadn’t so much as grazed his toes. They might have looked the same, but they sure as hell didn’t carry themselves the same.

“How much dancing do you know, Teach?” he asked as the tempo swelled now that each pair had found a new partner, the dance beginning anew.

“I don’t have any formal education, if that’s what you’re asking,” Blythe answered, her pace shaping up to match both the music and his. “I do have a certain intuition for it, though.”

“Then why don’t we try something a bit different,” Claude suggested, the corner of his mouth turning up in a show of something coy if not outright smug.

“What do you mean?” Blythe asked, her tone level but not enough to hide her suspicion.

He paused for a moment, uncertain if he should tip his hand even slightly. It had been enough for Yuri, almost enough for Lorenz, but Blythe was a mystery to him in this manner. He had known that both her and her brother’s education regarding the Church, Fódlan, or any of its politics had been lacking, but who was to know who’d they’d spoken with or what they’d seen in their time as sellswords.

...But then, they all had their tells.

“Have you ever danced with an Almyran?” he asked in a tone that he hoped would betray very little despite his risk.

“No, I can’t say I have,” Blythe replied, her caution replaced by curiosity.

A low chuckle escaped his throat. “Well, luckily for you, I’ve danced with plenty.”

He led at first, his feet more accustomed to the steps than Blythe’s were bound to be, but he was confident she would be able to pick it up quickly. He had told Byleth to count to three, but here they would count differently. While their Faerghan peers would move about in broad, graceful gestures and their Adrestian ones in sharp, accentuated movements, they would circle around each other and twirl in the way that the wind had around the Almyrans for thousands of years.

It seemed he had still vastly underestimated just how fast a learner Blythe was, though. A gross error on his part, given her position, really, but still her feet began moving with more confidence and, as a few more measures went past, more flourish.

A few measures more and she began to lead.

His eyebrows rose a bit at this, but he wasn’t opposed. If she wanted to lead, he was happy to follow.

He met her footsteps and moved around her as she glided across the floor, the hems of her robes flowing beautifully in a way that would earn the envy of any dervish worth their salt, and he was content to watch her right from her orbit.

She was the kind of beauty that would launch a thousand ships and plunge the world into war, and he would be the one persuaded to hoist the anchor.

They came together one last time, their eyes catching on one another, before the music commanded them apart once more…

...And landed him with his arms around one pink traitor wearing a smirk that rivaled his own when he had a less-than-wholesome idea.

“You’ve got it _bad_ ,” was all she said as they took up the familiar waltz once more.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it, _Pinkie_?” he demanded without heat. This was part of their game, him and his lieutenant. She teased him, he teased her, and they kept their secrets to the grave, if they merited it.

Evidently his crush on the teachers was either embarrassingly obvious or not important enough to count here, but it hardly was enough to sour things in the moment as they twirled artfully around the dance floor, Hilda’s chest pillowed against his as she sighed prettily. 

“I’m glad you’re not an asshole,” she murmured dreamily as Claude led them along. He quirked an eyebrow.

“...Good? Kind of wondering what brought that to mind, though,” he said as he swung her out into a spin with his hand and pulled her back as if a top, whirling back into his arms.

“You’re a good guy, Claude,” she began as they returned to their standard tempo. “You’ve got feelings for them, but you respect that they’re taken, or as good as. I know it probably stinks for you, but for what it’s worth that means you aren’t an asshole, and that can be hard to find.”

Claude’s expression softened. He hadn’t been doing it for recognition, far from it, but… he had to admit it was nice to know that someone at least understood what he was going through. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re not half bad yourself, Hilda,” he said fondly. “Couldn’t ask for a better right hand.”

They danced along peaceably, talking about this and that, reminiscing about the school year. From kidnappings, to demonic beasts, to who knew what else, it had certainly been more than either of them had come in expecting. They were pros, though. They could handle anything, and they were. As far as they were concerned, they and the Deer were flourishing.

The song ended, the both of them vacating the dance floor as the field reasserted itself to starting positions once more. Hilda grabbed an hors d’oeuvre, and, y’know what? Claude grabbed a flute of sparkling wine. Tonight didn’t have to be all work for him, he could still make something of it all. Despite the rough way she’d gone about it, Hilda’s little pep talk had fanned his ego a bit.

Hilda ran her fingers over his shoulder in goodbye as she spotted Marianne off in the distance and ran off to see her. He sat back, sipping his champagne and nibbling at an hors d’oeuvre of his own, watching the shifting waves of the dance floor and the way people interacted with one another. It was an interesting experience. Claude really hadn’t been to too many parties like this, and it had been a long time since he’d people-watched just for the fun of it.

He could see a bunch of knights at one of the refreshment tables laughing raucously about some mishap on an assignment or other that, judging from the flush on their faces and how their steins sloshed haphazardly, was probably blown out of proportion. He doubted the recollection was entirely cohesive either for how alcohol tended to put gaps into any narrative an inebriated person tried to tell, but he knew that every good-natured story always had an even better punchline.

How apt, then, that it all happened next to the bowl of spiced cider where Raphael and Ignatz were talking with a couple of the knights — Catherine and Shamir, if he remembered correctly — and the overly eager short kid and the serial narcoleptic from the Eagles.

It couldn’t have happened more beautifully, Claude thought. Catherine while recounting her tale had thrown her arms out in a grand gesture, hitting a dozing Linhardt between the shoulder blades and sending him careening into the bowl, which teetered on the table. It almost seemed as though it would have been alright for a moment before gravity won out and sent it toppling over, throwing its contents onto poor Ignatz and Raphael’s finery.

He could hardly contain his laughter as Ignatz gave a small misplaced apology as he made his way out of the hall with Raphael following behind shouting words of encouragement, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad. They would tell it later perhaps with the same hyperbolic gesticulation, but perhaps with less pigmented liquor.

He brought a finger to flick away any laughter-fueled tears that may have pooled at his tear ducts, and in doing so, almost missed a flash of blue velvet out of the corner of his eye.

Where could Dimitri be going, he wondered. He knew there hadn’t been anything set up outside for how frigid the mountain air was this time of year. The serving staff had even put plush cushions around the doors to insulate the halls, so why was the Crown Prince of Faerghus going out?

Claude may not have been an _asshole_ as Hilda put it, but he was _definitely_ a busybody for sure. Couldn’t let the girls have all the fun. He finished his flute of champagne and began following behind him at a safe distance.

He regretted his decision immediately after opening the door and getting hit in the face with a blast of cold-ass wind. But, ugh, such was the price he paid for poking his nose into things he probably shouldn’t have been. Curiosity and the cat and all that. He should have had more wine.

At least Dimitri’s cape made him easy to follow, and the man’s heavier footfall would mask his own as he tailed him through the colonnades to an adjacent courtyard. He stopped there, and Claude hid himself a bit further in the shadows that the full moon cast to watch. 

“Professor,” Dimitri said gently, calling to a figure with their back turned that Claude now recognized as Byleth. He was surprised he hadn’t seen him, but it made sense for how the man seemed to move with virtually no sound at all and with the speed of a cascade. But of course Dimitri would have been looking and would have followed him in a heartbeat if he’d seen him go.

Byleth said nothing as he stood there out on the frozen ground where snow had started to fall, but turned around to meet his eyes with an impassable look, though Claude swore there was something almost hopeful underneath.

“It’s rather cold out tonight. Wouldn’t you rather be in the hall where it’s warm?” Dimitri continued as he stepped closer.

Byleth shook his head lightly, dislodging some of the snowflakes from his hair. “I’m not one for parties.”

“I felt much the same when I was younger,” Dimitri said with a small smile. “I broke my fair share of dishware and found I was never without an audience for it. I would get so embarrassed, even if they were polite enough not to mention it in front of me.”

“It’s not hard to imagine,” Byleth said, his shoulders loosening a touch. “I’m not fond of the crowd either. Or… or dancing.”

“I can’t fault you there,” Dimitri replied, that wry smile of his tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But please forgive me. Selfish though it may be, I would still like to ask you for a dance.”

Then Dimitri extended a hand out to him, just as any expectant gentleman would.

The expression that lay on Byleth’s face would have been lost on anyone who didn’t know him, or at least watched him long enough to understand the thoughts going through his head from the small movements in his expression. Especially his eyes, which looked at the gloved hand proffered to him, then back up into Dimitri’s with a gentle sort of resolution before taking it into his own.

The smile that grew on Dimitri’s face as he pulled Byleth close told Claude everything he needed to know about how he felt about him, even if he hadn’t heard any of the rumors or found them in private before. They’d always danced around one another, but it was such a stark difference from the way they did now. Whoever had coined the term must not have ever danced. To hear it spoken was to envision polite turns of phrase that had layers of meaning, but to see it…

To see it was to witness a storybook brought to life with the two of them pressed against one another as they stepped and turned to a tune that only the two of them seemed to be able to hear as the winter night dusted them with gently falling snowflakes.

It was like there was no cold as long as they were there together, their clouded breaths the only thing between them as they held each other’s eyes.

Claude could not understand what was going through the mind of the pair. They were picturesque, ethereal, so painfully _beautiful._ He was rarely proud of his need to eavesdrop, but he was thankful in this case, if only because it meant he could bear witness to what by all measures was a truly magical moment.

The snow had coated the ground in a layer of white, and their footprints littered the courtyard as they swirled. Dimitri’s thick cape dusted over their steps, leaving artful impressions of movement behind as the snow kept falling and slowly covering the evidence of their dance as they finally came to a stop.

They held each other still, Byleth’s hands hidden against Dimitri's back by the blue velvet, the two of them very close indeed. The night was truly silent, the chandeliers shining from the windows the only light needed to bath them in the sort of coloring that an artist would pay any price to immortalize.

Byleth seemed to be shy. From cold, emotion, or both he simply stared into Dimitri’s chest as he was held by the taller boy. “...I didn’t know it was possible…” Byleth murmured, only barely loud enough for Claude’s trained ear to make out.  
  
“What’s possible, Professor?” asked Dimitri just as softly, his hold chaste and respectful for all their closeness and the palpable intimacy in the air.

“I… I did not know a moment like this would ever come for someone like me,” he said enigmatically, but looking up to grace Dimitri with a smile so warm and pure he and Dimitri both must have had their hearts stop.

Dimitri stood there, staring at Byleth gawping like a fish, not that Claude could blame him. Byleth’s smile slowly receded, to be replaced by a searing blush as he pulled his hands back, one raising to brush a piece of hair back self-consciously.  
  
Dimitri clasped both of his gloved hands over Byleth’s, catching it before it could touch his face with an eager, almost desperate look on his own. “Professor,” he breathed, seeming to have lost his voice for the moment.

Byleth tilted his head in an adorable gesture of confusion. “Dimitri?” he echoed in turn, his lips curving upwards gently.

“Could—could you smile, again? For me?” he asked, the Crown Prince of Faerghus bright red and so embarrassingly sincere that if the question had been for him he’d have smiled in a heartbeat.

But Byleth did. Oh, damn Claude’s traitorous heart, he _did._ Byleth smiled for him like nothing made him happier than fulfilling Dimitri’s every wish, and Claude could feel his heart clench in some painful mixture of awe, adulation, and brutally stifled jealousy.

And then Dimitri lifted Byleth’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it like the storybook prince he was.

...While Claude was a coward and a weakling, stealing some measure of this precious moment between those two for himself, playing at being Byleth’s lover by proxy.

Byleth was right not to have chosen him.

Dimitri hadn’t needed any opportunistic staging, hadn’t needed to swoop in and steal him away. He hadn’t even needed to say anything to draw Byleth’s eyes away from his feet and up to his face just so he could dive into them. No, he hadn’t needed _anything_. Byleth was just his as much as he was Byleth’s. Perhaps it had always been that way.

Filled with sudden, virulent self-loathing, Claude could look no more. He was a thief, daring to interlope upon so precious a moment that was not meant for him. He didn’t cover his tracks, but he doubted the lovebirds would notice or care.

He didn’t go back into the party, either. He could feel how his face had soured, his frown dark, and his eyes tight. Everything was mocking him, now. Hah, he couldn’t get either of them! Let’s give this perfect night to other people while he looks in on it like some voyeur.

The Goddess Tower stood before him like a beacon of shame. 

He found a snowlogged bench, wiping its seat clean with a few careless, perhaps even petulant swipes of his hand. He sat down, savoring the cold and the silence. He was uncomfortable, but he preferred that in this bitter moment.

Completely outplayed by people who didn’t even know they were playing, seemingly from the start. Two of the most amazing people he’d ever met had looked him over and found him wanting.

And yet, in their boundless kindness, they didn’t understand the pain they caused him with it. The tea, the lessons, the kind words and friendly gestures… he hated that he’d been beaten. This was one defeat he was having trouble accepting.  
  
He stared up into the star-dappled sky, wondering what the world’s most valuable bastard was going to do with his life now. Still work on his plans with Yuri, most likely, but even that had somehow been tainted by tonight.

He’d felt a spark with Yuri, a connection, but now that he’d been so soundly thrashed by both Dimitri and Edelgard, it felt like all of those feelings had been recontextualized so that Yuri was a consolation prize. Now his mind was telling him to fight for his love, but Yuri was a prideful man who would not settle for being someone’s second choice.

He was pretty sure Yuri would literally stab him if he found out about it, too.

His midnight reverie was broken by a sound he hadn’t expected to hear: heels stepping on stone, growing louder as their source walked out of the tower.

It was Blythe. Alone. Claude could hardly believe his eyes from where he sat only a few dozen feet from the path.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew why people went to the Goddess Tower on a night like this, and there was only one person Blythe would choose. It was obvious.

So why was she _alone?_ Was Edelgard still up there? Had she already left?

He’d lost Byleth pretty definitively this night, but as far as he was aware Blythe had been taken for quite a bit longer. The rumor mill made no secret of it, even if they seemed able to keep explicit evidence to a minimum. Edelgard wasn’t an idiot, yet she seemed to be loosening on that stance as time went on. Stories of them holding hands, sharing tea, sitting beneath trees… There was no question what was going on, and for all Blythe’s kindness towards him, she did not mean it as he hoped she did.  
  
Because of that, then, his natural curiosity overrode his doldrums, and he couldn’t stop himself from standing up and giving Blythe a wave from where he stood to catch her attention.

The look on her face made his stomach tie in fearful knots. She looked _beaten_. She looked worse than he’d ever seen her, worse than the emotionless mask she’d worn when they’d first met.

Without thinking, he spoke. “Hey. Uh… rough night?”

Blythe said nothing, simply staring at him with those piercing eyes of hers before giving a single terse nod. Claude nodded in turn, doing his best to give off an air of respectful empathetic sympathy. “Mine wasn’t too great either,” he said softly, a sliver of his true pain creeping through. Something in Blythe’s face seemed to signal she understood.

With a few deft sweeps, he cleared snow off the other half of the bench. “Wanna take a seat before you go back in there?” he asked, embarrassed at how hopeful he was for just a bit of contact. “We don’t have to talk, or anything,” he hastened to clarify when he saw her tense. “Not about anything if you’re not feeling up to it.”  
  
She seemed to think on the matter for a moment, before walking over to the bench, taking a seat.

They said nothing for a long time, sitting there in the cold. Both of them had their arms over the back of the bench, forearms brushing as they stared up at the stars.

His throat was dry. Words had wanted to crawl out of it the entire time they’d been together, but he was too scared to take the plunge. If Blythe didn’t want to talk, he didn’t know how best to bring her back out of her shell. Byleth was pricklier, but Blythe’s moods were much more all-encompassing than his. When he chanced a glance at her staring up at the tower and at the stars, it was like she was a thousand miles away.

He nearly jolted when her lips moved as he looked at her. “Thank you for this, Claude,” she said gently, quietly. Like she was tired. Claude frantically thought of something to say.  
  
“I could say the same, Teach. Today’s been… rough for me,” he admitted ruefully, pained. “It’s my own fault, though.”

Blythe smiled at that, turning to look at him with those unbelievable blue eyes, seeming to gleam in the darkness, like jewels. “You speak like a mercenary, Claude. Has anyone told you that?” Claude chuffed, thankful for the distraction even if it was dangerous territory.  
  
“I spent a lot of time on the streets when I was a kid. I liked it better out there. People didn’t lie to you. Not as much, anyway, and not for the same reasons,” he admitted, crossing his arms behind his head. “Nobles are… not really my kind of folk, on average.”  
  
Blythe nodded. “You all are okay, though,” she said gently. “Not like the older ones my father took contracts from.”

Claude could only snort at that. “Ah, yes. The babies are always so cute, until their delusions of grandeur grow in, don’t they?” he said humorlessly, gaze falling down to his feet. Then when Blythe didn’t rise at his jape, “Sorry. Just… yeah.”

He was surprised, though, when Blythe put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Claude,” she said. “I… feel bitter tonight, too.”

Slowly, cautiously, Claude reached a hand out, mirroring her gesture and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah,” he managed through a strangled throat. He hated this. He hated that she was the one taking care of him when she was the one who’d been hurt, and probably by Edelgard. He wanted to joke about hurting her back, the things he’d say to a friend in jest, but he knew that if he said it, he really would mean it.

He was a mess. He didn’t know how to get out of this situation gracefully.

But then Blythe slid across the bench, wrapping both arms around him, nose nuzzling into his collar. “Please don’t be sad, Claude. I don’t want you to be sad right now.”

That was the line that broke him.

“I don’t know if I _can_ , Blythe. You—I just—I don’t know how to _help_ you right now,” he said, feeling himself grow frantic. He wrapped his arms around her, crushingly tight and she only reciprocated.  
  
“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “You are.”  
  
He held her close, breathing deeply, trying to blink away the tears that had for some reason started pooling in his eyes. He gave a shuddering breath, nuzzling back into Blythe’s shoulder, like she was for him.

“Edelgard wouldn’t promise me, up there. She said she couldn’t risk my heart in such a way when so much was unsure,” she whispered softly, nuzzling further into his collar, the action somehow soothing him despite its strangeness.

He stroked her back, paradoxically feeling his own tension slowly bleed out of him. “I’m sorry,” he said with as much sincerity as he could. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”  
  
They were probably just empty platitudes for her, but he’d seen proof of how much Edelgard cared for her. There had to be something he was missing. She was a girl who had put the entire empire on her shoulders, so maybe it was as simple as not devoting herself until she’d ascended or something like that. No one could really know for sure what was going through her head, not even Hubert.

She shivered in his grasp. “I know, but my chest… _hurts,”_ she admitted, making no move to loosen her grip as she pulled herself closer. 

He sighed and started to stroke her hair. “Love hurts sometimes, Blythe. Trust me, I know. But that doesn’t make it any less worth it,” he sighed, sinking into her in some small way. “If you think it’s worth it, it is.”

Blythe let out a shaky sigh, slowly loosening her grip. With a final, almost possessive nuzzle into his collar she pulled back, looking at him with those impossibly gleaming eyes that took his breath away.

“Thank you for this, Claude,” she whispered softly, intimately like this meant something to her. 

He had to swallow back an almost physical urge to kiss her then. It seemed like Blythe could sense it, in the way her eyes seemed to dilate and sharpen, gleaming as her lips parted slightly.

“Claude…” she whispered, an octave lower, and it was then that he knew he had to leave _immediately._

He stood up brusquely, stretching awkwardly to maintain his personal bubble. He’d sooner die than mess this all up worse than it was anyway. Whatever Edelgard had going on, what they had seemed to be real. He couldn’t get in the way of that, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

He might have been a loser who wanted other people’s partners, but he wasn’t a cheater, and he refused to be someone’s rebound. He couldn’t have her and then lose her again. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

“It’s getting late,” he said, hoping she understood what he was actually saying. “We should probably head to bed, yeah?”  
  
“...Maybe you’re right,” she answered, standing up as well. “It is pretty cold, isn’t it. And I’ve no hunger for more festivities tonight.”  
  
Claude nodded. “Sure. You go ahead, I’ll just… make sure Hilda’s behaving, and I’ll head to bed too,” he said, pulling out an easy excuse to not join her on the walk back.

She seemed to buy it, to his relief. “Good night, Claude,” she said in that gentle voice from before, making him lock his knees for the reflex to run and take her into his arms. “Sleep well.”  
  
“Yeah…” he managed, staring back up at the sky for lack of the ability to look at her properly. “You sleep well too, Teach.”

She stepped towards him, and Claude stiffened. What was she—

With both hands on his head, she leaned up, gently kissing him on his forehead, and his mind simply stopped working, her lips leaving behind a scorched brand on his forehead.  
  
“Bye,” she said, with a small wave, walking away at an unhurried pace.

Claude could only watch her go.  
  
He didn’t really remember much of what happened after that. He tried not to think of anything at all, as his head finally hit the pillow and he prayed for morning to come, the winter muffling the world around him as he finally drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining us! As ever, comments and kudos are much appreciated.
> 
> For those curious, the game Claude and Yuri were playing is a real one, called Tak. Originally invented for the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss, then only conceptual and without rules or actual true gameplay. James Ernest helped him make the extremely good actual version, which is elegant in its simplicity and devilish in its depth. I highly recommend it, if you enjoy board games.  
> ~Xima
> 
> Additionally, as ever, we have a Discord where you are more than welcome to join, so long as you are of legal age! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm The more the merrier, they say, and we post secret tidbits, like cut scenes or our scent guide document for all of the characters.


	32. Viridian Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monica enacts the plan. The twins say goodbye to Sothis.

Monica had been busy.

The past few months had been quite the trial for her, honestly. So much had needed to be done.

With Solon gone, she no longer had a command structure in this stupid castle. It’s not like she needed it, though. Thales had trained her well, and she knew what he wanted to know and how to get them to him. Dead drops, contacts who didn’t know their true identities in Abyss who went through double, even triple blinded message transfers, she knew how it all went.

That didn’t mean the actual work she needed to do was any fun though, even if she was good at it. Cozying up to Edelgard to watch her movements, trying to keep an eye on the twins and those filthy Ketes, trying to find a weak spot in Solon’s cell to break him out…

At least therein she had to grudgingly give credit where it was due. They did _not_ want Solon getting out. Even with the invasion, unless they managed to completely overrun the place, they wouldn’t even manage to get _close_ to him.

And so, she puttered around Garreg Mach, playing the role of the vapid, clingy student. She hated it. So she was glad Solon got caught. Making her use this stupid disguise and play nice for months on end was a waste of her skills, and she hoped Solon got a few scars as punishment.

It was finally time, though. It was all coming together. A few hours from now, she would put the plan into action. She could already see the pieces beginning to fall into place. The market was unusually crowded, the Knights unusually on edge, which was to be expected. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew their enemies were smart. They had to be to have evaded them for so long. They smelled trouble as well as they could smell fear, and that was why she could not be afraid.

She turned the enchanted knife Thales himself had given her in her hands before putting it back into its ankle sheathe. She needed to be as ready as she could be for what was to come. And so, she touched herself up, to give herself a battleworn look. A tear here, a false black eye...

Thales in his infinite wisdom had planned everything out. He knew what their countermove would be and had a counter to _that_ and anything else they had in turn , and Edelgard would give them all the muscle they needed to finally _crush_ their enemies and let them come to the surface in truth like Thales had promised her when she was just a girl.

The light… she could finally bask in it unmasked. Thales would finally give her everything he promised her.

She had been keeping track of the twins all day. Knowing their schedules, they would be coming together soon. Then she just had to take them on a merry chase, where Thales’s message in the dead drop had said. She didn’t know what she’d find there, but the note said her cover wasn’t important anymore, which was… good.

She had enjoyed being “normal” for a bit. Even with the stupid persona she had made for herself, some of the students refused to leave her alone and had crawled under her skin. That foreigner, Petra, always asking her silly questions about how to say this or the gray-haired boy, Ashe, asking after her health. But the most insistent of them all had been the pink-haired girl from the Golden Deer class. While she had known Hilda as a charlatan and a swindler, she hadn’t seemed to want anything that she seemed to garner out of their other classmates. But Monica was no fool; the girl wanted something, and she knew how to spot a mole amidst the gossipers. 

She really had tried to chase them away with sharp words and cruel smiles. She couldn’t waste time forming bonds with people other than her targets, but they seemed to see through the act without difficulty. They insisted on being kind to her, and she didn’t know why they bothered, until like it or not they held a place in her chest. Them and others, friends with “Monica,” the person who didn’t even exist anymore.

Despite herself, she _would_ be sad if they died, pink menaces or otherwise. She hoped they didn’t. They were just pawns in all this. Thales always told her that there was no price too high for their freedom, and of course Thales was right, but... maybe if she put in a word with him, they could be merciful. This once. For his loyal Kronya.

It was such a nice day, truly unfit for the coming bloodbath. She wandered the battlements, staring out into the distance at the forests, probably brimming with Adrestian soldiers and all the rest that would bring this chapter of her life to an end, for better or worse. 

For everyone in the monastery really. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.

This place had made her soft. Stupid sheep, innocent in their idyllic, shining world. This very room she sat in as she waited, _her_ room. Such a thing was unthinkable for any but one of Thales’s caliber or his inner circle; she’d fought and bled for such an honor, and yet it was handed out easily, thoughtlessly on this surface world of plenty.  
  
Kronya came from someplace darker — was _made_ of something darker — from a place where you had to scrabble desperately just to survive, kill just to earn the right to exist, and do whatever it took to get by, all in the impossible dark of the tunnels praying to be picked up by one of the powers that be, much like Thales had for her. He’d lifted her up, groomed her, fed her, turned her into more than a starving rat eating grubs off the walls.

There weren’t many people down there, but because of Thales, she was one of them. To say she was thankful for how he’d saved here from that life was an understatement. He’d shown her what was supposed to be theirs, let her bask in the holy light he promised would give her all that she’d wanted in this life and the next.

She _had_ to make that come true. If not, what was all of this for? The training, the lessons, the harsh diet, the surgeries that stripped away her very identity, the spell that sat above her skin, itching constantly as if a layer of static… it had to all mean something.  
  
She was part of something. She had to play her role in Thales’ plan to make sure no one had to live down in those damnable tunnels ever again.

She took one of her non-spelled knives, slashing a few bloody cuts along her arms, face and chest, wincing despite herself. With a final artful tousle of her hair, she looked ragged and desperate. Perfect.

No point packing anything. If all went as planned she could come back, but it’s not like there was anything here but a few spare uniforms and other useless things that she could replace easily.

She stood up from where she had been applying her makeup at her vanity, and went over the plan one more time as she took in a steadying breath.

The note had been very clear. On the night of the new moon, the invasion would begin. She was to find a way to lure the twins into the catacombs in the dark of night, so as to roughly coincide with the invasion force breaching the monastery. She was to hold them there by force if necessary.

She exhaled.

Easy enough, she supposed.

With the weight of hidden daggers strapped to her, she stepped out into the bitter cold, walking soundlessly to the door that housed the two creatures that were-and-were-not manaketes.

Her pounding fists broke the chill silence of the night, as did her terrified voice, begging them to open the door.

In good time the man, Byleth, opened the door, eyes lidded and wearing a nightshirt. He gave her a once-over, eyes sharpening quickly upon noticing her sorry state. “What’s happened?” he asked, voice brisk and to-the-point.  
  
“Th-the tombs! Something’s going on in the tombs! There were people, and there was a tunnel, and gates, and I think people are _attacking!_ ” she said, trying to keep the image of Thales’ open, punishing hand in mind to keep the edge of fear in her voice .  
  
“What were you doing in the tombs?” he asked, frustratingly keen.  
  
“I… I was snooping, okay? There are rumors about a secret town beneath the monastery, and I was curious! Is it really important? We need to stop them!” she screamed, gesturing wildly to the cathedral in the hopes that it would help sell the hastily concocted lie.

He seemed to cede the point. “Wait here,” he said simply, closing the door. She stepped in place impatiently, trying her best to inhabit the role she was playing.

Finally both Professors appeared dressed and armed in the doorway, albeit with Byleth seeming a bit less perfectly coiffed than usual. 

“Okay, good, let’s go. I already told the Knights, so they should be there already!” she cried, taking off at a run, pleased to hear the sounds of them following her at a matching pace. 

The sprint through the courtyards and over the bridge was uneventful. There were no sounds of fighting yet, so either they hadn’t been discovered, or the fighting was still only underground. The only thing that kept them company was the inky darkness of the new moon.

It was in darkness like this she had been born, and it was in darkness like this she would die were it not for Thales. Her heart was racing, the fear and apprehension gripping her in truth as the risks and stakes began to set in. This was it. She had to do this.  
  
She ran through the cathedral, wrenching the doors open. She’d picked the lock earlier that day and had checked it was still untouched after night patrol passed through.

So they dived deeper and deeper into the earth, into the stygian darkness that was her home, no matter where it was. Hard-won training allowed her to feel her way through the passages on touch alone after a lifetime in the pitch black.

The twins, of course, followed effortlessly, no efforts made to light a torch, just as Solon’s text on manakete biology suggested. But deep enough down here, there was no light at all for even a dragon’s eye to catch, and that was where a killer like Kronya truly shone.

Holy Light, it was coming together. She needed to make this work — this was her duty. She could not fail. She skidded around the final corner leading to the Holy Mausoleum, still covered in the pall of night. She stopped, gasping in the total darkness. The deep breathing of the three was the only sound in the impossible darkness of the underground.  
  
“...Where is everyone, Monica?” Blythe asked with an edge to her voice .  
  
Kronya took a deep breath. “Right here!” she yelled, trusting her allies to spring the trap.

There was the sound of a spell being cast, making Kronya tense. Then, Kronya felt her body being engulfed in soul-shattering blackness darker than any she had ever experienced.

Distantly, she was aware the twins were being consumed by the darkness now radiating out of her body. But… Why was she hit? Did… did they miss? It was so dark, now. So dark. Thales said there would be light. Was she going to die here? Was she going to die here in the dark?  
  
Kronya didn’t want to die.

She wasn’t even granted the sight so many others had been given before her, but someone who had only known the darkness in which she slithered could never know that final light that accompanied them to that far shore.

* * *

There was darkness, and then there was stone.

Blythe was… dreaming, she assumed. This stone floor, that queer altar... This was where Sothis always greeted them when they dreamt. She stood there now with Byleth at her side, staring up at a staircase that led nowhere. Filled with the intuitive knowledge of dreams, Blythe knew Sothis was up there.

That staircase hadn’t been there, in any of their other dreams. What had changed? Why were they here and not with Monica — that _traitor_ — in the Tomb?

What was happening? This... wasn’t a dream, she knew that now, but she shouldn’t be here, neither of them should be here. This was Sothis’s domain, it didn’t even exist.

“Byleth, what’s happening...? Where are we?” she asked nervously as if he’d know the answer, sword unsheathed and eyes darting.

“In a domain much akin to me,” called Sothis from high above. They looked at one another, before beginning the awkward trek up to meet their ghostly companion. “Much as a ghost is the echo of a living being, this is the echo of a world that never was, wished into a pale existence. A mere shade, not even truly there in your world, merely layered atop it, like a pane of glass over a painting. And yet, all the same, we exist, in our small way. We grow stronger. For a goddess has power, even depleted, my sweet children.”  
  
They reached the top of the stairs, standing before Sothis seated on her throne, open air to all sides, revealing naught but darkness. The small god stood up, moving towards them in measured steps.  
  
“I swore I would protect you both, my sweet Byleth, my sweet Blythe,” she said gently, her hands somehow impossibly physical in this realm as she caressed their cheeks. “And so I shall, no matter the price,” she said, a sad smile coming upon her, wide and yet full of sorrow.

“...What are you planning, Sothis...?” murmured Byleth with caution in a familiar tone of voice that dropped a stone in Blythe’s belly.

She simply looked at her, eyes like viridian stars, that warm smile on her face that made her think of motherhood. “The spell that brought you into my realm required a sacrifice. The girl was consumed utterly so that you could be trapped here evermore,” she said softly, addressing the both of them. “Magic like that is impossible to unmake normally, and if it is it requires a commensurate counter payment: a life for a life.”

  
She let her hands fall from their cheeks, smile still radiant as her eyes crinkled closed. “But I am a goddess, and even a diminished one can’t claim that title if they can’t break a bit of mortal magecraft, wouldn’t you say? So, I will break it for you,” she said, eyes glimmering now, with an alarming reflectiveness. “Or give you the power to, at least,” she said, a sudden bark of laughter claiming her as she rubbed at her eyes. 

“Sothis, what are you planning?” she asked again, a legitimate alarm staining her voice. “You don’t need to do anything rash, we have time.”

“No, sweet heart, we don’t. Time is moving normally out there, and your children are in danger, as is your family. They are my responsibility, as well. You both need to free yourselves, and return strong enough to protect them,” she said sadly, the truth of what was happening beginning to dawn on her with mounting horror. “No matter the cost.”  
  
She did not move, simply meeting their eyes with a peaceful warmth that confirmed what Blythe feared: that she was preparing herself to die, again. “I will not leave you truly, my dears,” she said. “I will always be with you, for I will give you all that remains of me so that you might cleave your way free with my hallowed bones.”

Byleth’s interjection was a simple, choked “No,” as he kneeled to stare at her at eye level, Blythe all but collapsing to do the same.

“Sothis, you—you can’t leave us,” Blythe said desperately, her brother’s eyes painfully wide next to her as he continued with, “We need you, you can’t—I don’t need power, I need you,” pain tying his tongue.

  
Sothis placed a hand on Byleth’s cheek. “Byleth,” she said softly, warmly. “You do not need me. You are both grown with children of your own. You are already any parent’s pride. I know you wish to keep me, and you will, for I’ll always be with you,” she sighed, nuzzling into them in that way Ketes did, their mingled scents hitting Blythe’s nose like a storm, brackish juniper and her earthy tones with the unknowable swirl of Sothis’s unearthly scent.

Byleth wrapped his arms around her, desperately, and Blythe couldn’t stop herself from joining him. “We love you, Sothis,” Blythe whispered, voice choked, the two of them savoring this one chance they had to hold their beloved goddess.

Sothis made a sad noise, a soft _oh_ of love and sorrow. “I love you too, my beloved children… please, care for your family, and know that every time you love yourselves and one another, that’s me loving you,” she whispered as motes of light slowly began to drift upwards off of her. Blythe could only hold her tighter in response as they multiplied, surrounding them in Sothis’s radiant light.

There were no more words as they both nuzzled into one of Sothis’s tiny shoulders, desperate to savor their final moments with her. They closed their eyes against the onslaught and then felt their goddess fading, becoming more ethereal until she was gone and all they could do was hug each other close as Sothis’s presence disappeared entirely, the light engulfing them, blinding them in the most sublime way.

It was as if her senses completely shut off for a moment, as the light filled her vision with perfect whiteness even through her eyelids. 

When she returned to herself, she felt...different. It was as if she’d closed her eyes, and when she’d opened then, she’d been given a new body, almost the same as her old one, but just different enough to notice.  
  
She smelled her brother even more clearly now, every note of his emotions. The loss, the hope, the bitter need to protect his own and do as Sothis had wished. It all seemed so clear now in the esoteric whorls of juniper and petrichor and the unknowable strangeness of a goddess’s scent that made everything whole.

They stood, pulling back from their hug to behold one another.

  
Byleth looked… different. Almost precisely the same, but different. His hair had changed color, as had his eyes, a stunning, beautiful green, much akin to Rhea’s, as he looked back at her with the same knowing incredulousness . He smelled… _more_. Beneath the petrichor and juniper was that unknowable scent she had linked with Sothis’s presence, and she knew intuitively that was where it would remain.

She also knew that just as she was, he was overflowing with power in that moment, the power to rupture heaven itself. A goddess’s power.

There were no words between them, not even a nod. As one, they stood, swords in hand. Their blades gleamed red, the bones of the goddess begging to have their power released.  
  
In a single, effortless stroke, each twin mirroring the other, a great red _X_ appeared in the air before them, the world appearing before them in a burst of light. In synchronized step, they entered the blinding glory of the real world.

But it was not as they had left it.

All around them beyond the fissure were people, armored and armed and stunned into inaction by the impossible sight they must have just now seen, knights and invaders both.

Her eyes slit as she turned to lock eyes on the familiar scent, fire and frost and seeing the Flame Emperor, garbed and immaculate standing in the back line.

“...Edelgard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all coming to a head.
> 
> This chapter, as you might have imagined, went through a large number of rewrites, and eventually needed to be split into parts. It's quite a beast, as you might imagine! I wanted to drag it out on and on, but perhaps short and sweet is the better answer...
> 
> We always love comments and kudos, of course! We also have a discord where you can come say hello! Heads up, it's an 18+ server, so please be aware of such.  
> https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm


	33. Don't Hesitate to Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment — and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

The first thing Byleth noticed is that the world felt new.

In that dark void, everything had seemed compact and limited despite the fathoms that existed in the vast expanse of naught, and it had only grown smaller while they had all been there. Three had become two, and yet despite the math, he felt like _more_.

He also _felt_ more, like every one of his senses had grown to find everything louder, the volume of existence threatening to rupture his mind and draw blood from his eyes and ears. It was all so much, and he wasn’t sure if his body could take the crushing weight after his heart had been cracked and soldered back together.

But somewhere within, he felt as though this was how it should have been, like something had been restored and made whole, and it buffered out the edges as the world gently ebbed back in around him.

The mausoleum, right. He and Blythe had come into the mausoleum and been betrayed by Monica… or something masquerading as her, at least, he realized as his eyes passed over the cooling form of something with a pallor that told him she had never seen the light of day even once. Pity.

His nose picked out the scent of copper beyond them, though, and he became aware of the sounds of battle: the crash of steel, the thwip of oiled bowstring, and the crackle of spellwork.

His nose picked out every notable player that was worth recognition: Claude, Dimitri, and a few others standing amidst some felled armored combatants he didn’t remember being there. He could see Hilda, Dedue... they must have followed them in the wake of Monica’s outburst.

The opposing side was frustrating in how he recognized so many of the enemies he’d encountered since coming to Garreg Mach. He recognized the Flame Emperor in the back row and the Death Knight on the front lines, but the haggard man with them was a stranger, and Byleth was getting properly fed up with surprises. It was like the hydra which had been biting at them all year had finally shown its true bulk, eager to eat them all whole.

From the look on Blythe’s face, though, he wasn’t sure she had paid enough attention to recognize who was on their side or the enemy’s, focused as she was on the Flame Emperor.

“Professor!” called Claude and Dimitri in unison from behind them, and in the next moment, they were beside them, two sets of eyes looking him over.

It brought a pang to his chest, even if it was only practical. He did the same for them all every battle, and while he’d taught them how to lead, he _hadn’t_ taught them to care. They’d picked that up from example and had chosen to reciprocate .

“What the hell was that!?” called only Claude this time, almost making him give a rather ill-timed smile at his antics. A good question, but not the time, he thought as a small trail of red dribbled over Claude’s eyebrow.

“Hell if I know,” Byleth replied as he grabbed his hand to stand, but before he could even begin to describe what all had transpired, another voice reverberated across the pall of the mausoleum.

“You broke free of my spell. A goddess’s power is truly frightful,” said the man near the Flame Emperor in a low, powerful voice that carried effortlessly.

“...Who are you, and what do you want? You speak of things you have no business knowing and with armed men in a holy tomb. Explain yourself,” he said, brooking no argument as he levelled his sword at the man. Ten, twelve… the soldiers outnumbered them even with the bodies of ones already felled strewn about, and then there was the Death Knight. His mind was already whirring with calculations and years’ worth of strategy. The odds were grim, but they had the advantage of being able to fall back and bottleneck them if needed.

Blythe all but ignored the hand that Dimitri offered her, and she stood on her own, transfixed on the stark white and red of the Flame Emperor’s mask from where they stood atop the stone steps.

“...Edelgard?” she called, voice queerly strangled as it echoed through the unnatural silence of the cavern in the face of their impossible entrance.

Oh no.

Byleth was a tactician before he was a fighter. While his sister loved the feeling of losing herself in the fog of war and letting her body move the way their training and instincts warranted, such was not his prerogative. Combat, to him, was a careful equation, finding the calculus which ended with him the winner and his opponent the loser. To that end, tactics had always made more sense, and the difference in his and his sister’s approaches was never more evident than here as she looked to all the world like she had been utterly set adrift without any moorings to hold her.

The man let loose a raspy chuckle. “Your sister has the right of it, godling. Who I am is of no importance. The person responsible for this is someone else,” he said, a coy smile cracking across his face.

“Edelgard, show yourself,” Blythe called in a shaking voice, and as she tried to channel her battlefield authority, it rose in pitch as the battlefield stood silent. “I can smell you, show yourself!”

The silence dragged on. “Edelgard!” Blythe cried once more, fear in her voice and in her scent, dust and steel.

“Yes, indeed! Where are you, Edelgard?” called the pale man, seeming to chuckle to the red-clad figure next to him rather than himself. “You made your bed, little emperor. Now lie in it.”

There was another long silence. Then, the clatter of greaves on stone as the Flame Emperor stepped forward. Their footsteps were the only sound to be heard until, finally, they made their way to the front line.

“Hello, my teacher,” came the distorted voice of the Flame Emperor.

“Edelgard,” she whispered, her face pale. “Why are you…?” 

The Emperor’s gauntlet rose up, a thumb placing itself on his sister’s lips as they gently clutched her chin: a plea for silence. They pulled back and raised their hands, then, removing the helm and revealing rivulets of long, white hair.

There in her imperial majesty stood Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir-apparent to the Adrestian Empire, garbed in a dangerous terrorist’s guise. “I see you’ve changed your hair. I admit, I preferred it how it was.”  
  
Ahead of him, Byleth sensed the turning of mental gears in the silence amidst the sound of tightening steel .  
  
“I _am_ happy to see you alive. I was led to believe there was no escaping his spell,” she continued as she toyed with the edges of the mask in her hands, the tang of ozone wafting into the air around her .  
  
“Edelgard, don’t play with me. What’s going on here? Why are you in that garb? Why are you with them? What is going on here!?” she demanded, voice climbing into a shout, addressing the entirety of the room as the Sword in her hand gleamed red with the force of her emotion.

The man laughed, seeming to delight in Blythe’s confusion, and Byleth came to the decision that he did not like this man and would kill him if the opportunity arose, eyes slitting at the thought of someone disrespecting his blood.

“I am invading Garreg Mach,” she replied simply, making Blythe’s scent spiral into the sharpest scent of steel he’d ever smelled off her. “I am declaring war on the Church of Seiros and the Crest system. I will wipe them from this earth and unite the continent under Adrestia’s banner once more so that peace and plenty may reach every corner of Fódlan.”

The cavern was terrifically silent for all the people who populated it. Blythe stared at her love, mouth agape.

“Wh—Edelgard, what—what are you...?” she asked, stuttering and so obviously cut adrift from everything she understood of the world.

He wished he could do something to help her, but he had to admit he was completely lost as well. Was Adrestia declaring war on the church for the Flame Emperor’s motives? His eyes roved over the gathered troops in Adrestia’s colors, armed for war and already numbering amid the first casualties.

“Yes, my teacher. I have deceived you, and now I declare war upon the Central Church which you serve. What will you do, I wonder?” she asked, the lilt in her voice speaking of curiosity.

Blythe was looking around the room, at all of the assembled children and soldiers. “You… What about your friends? The Eagles, you’d—you’d leave them all behind?”

“They, like any others, are welcome to join me. I am on the right side in this endeavor, professor. You may not know much of the rot that lies in the systems which make up our society, but they might, just as they might see that this is the only way.”

Edelgard cut a striking figure even now. Back straight, clad in the Flame Emperor’s regalia with her hair cascading down her back… despite her height, none would question her noble bearing.

“Edelgard, surely there’s another way. War? With _them_ on your side?" Blythe countered desperately, eyes slit with her passion. “They kidnap innocents, experiment on them!”

The accusation made Byleth furrow his brow. He knew of the kidnapping, Flayn’s abduction had shown him that, but the experimentation was new, even with what he’d seen at Remire. But what had _Blythe_ seen that would make her arrive at such a conclusion?

Edelgard nodded solemnly. “Yes. Adrestia may be powerful, but even she cannot conquer the continent unassisted. Our goals aligned, and so we entered a mutually beneficial partnership.”  
  
The man behind her shifted atop his destrier as he spoke. “I’d hardly say your side is without sin. You dragons have manipulated continental politics for millennia.”

“Not now, Thales. Who bears what sins is irrelevant,” she admonished without any heat to her voice. “The fact of the matter, my teacher, is that I am taking Garreg Mach. I would like to take it bloodlessly, and you have the power to make that so.”

Blythe went pale. “You can’t mean…” she whispered, horror coming over her practically in real time. “I can’t… you would ask me to betray the Archbishop..?” she asked before a terrified laugh crawled out of her throat, her voice warring between incredulity and agony. “Edie, what are you talking about? I can’t betray her!”

“You say that as if betraying her were something to be ashamed of, my love,” Edelgard answered, voice steely.

Byleth clenched his eyes shut, unable in the moment to confront the hypocrisy within himself as he heard it spoken aloud.

“You all see what the Church has wrought. You have been reduced to little more than what Crest stained your blood at birth. Where is the justice in that? I will break us of that horror! With me, you shall be free! You will be who you are, not what Crest lies in your blood. Tell me!” she cried, arm outstretched to the students, looking at her with fearful fascination. “Tell me, am I wrong to wish for this? Are you truly happy, living in such a terrible world that strips you of your very identity? Tell me that there is not the possibility of a better world than this one that can be built with our own hands!”

No one dared speak, tongues tied despite aspects of their own thoughts given voice in the form of a firebrand.

“This world that manipulates us, that would kill if only to ensure we bear a damnable Crest that offers us nothing but a predetermined fate, dooms us to toil to uplift the very system which demeans us! Is this the best world we can hope for!? I say no!!”

Her voice reverberated seemingly endlessly, Blythe standing mute and simply staring at her with a shaking lip.

“Well, that was a pretty rousing speech and all, and I can’t say that you don’t make a good point,” Claude started, the level volume of his voice enough to break the silence that had settled amidst the tension in the air, “but I can’t help but notice that Adrestia seems to gain _quite a bit_ from all this.”

The smell of pitch flooded Byleth’s nostrils, followed by the sound of buckling steel alongside the quiet trill of laughter beside him that slowly grew to a reverberating howl, the Crown Prince’s voice echoing like something hellish through the tomb.

“Indeed so,” Dimitri said as he gathered his breath once more in uneven intakes. “And what else was the Kingdom but a proving ground for your ambitions?”

Byleth furrowed his brow in thought once more, trying to place the pieces together. Faerghus had been granted independence some time in relative antiquity with the Church’s blessing, and in more recent years had seen much hardship in the wake of a new crown and an epidemic. But that was to be expected in times of shifting power and disease, so what else was there?

Next to him, Blythe turned slowly to look at Dimitri with wary eyes and raised hackles.

“After all,” Dimitri continued, the smile vanishing from his face in the place of something much darker that sat on his face more naturally than what sat well with Byleth as he raised his lance. “...Your mother’s carriage was never touched.”

Blythe’s eyes were gleaming slits, and he was sure his own were as well. Her sword was suddenly in a guard stance at smelling the sheer violence that bubbled out of Dimitri’s scent like a tar spring. 

“Dimitri. No, no, don’t —” he began before Dimitri pulled his lance back in a stance Byleth himself had taught him to hold a javelin.

He didn’t have time to think. The only things that flashed through his mind were _danger—pack—protect_ as he lunged to destabilize Dimitri’s lance as his inhuman strength sent it hurtling straight and true all the same, seeming like it would go straight through Edelgard.

For a frantic, terrified moment all Byleth could think was _Can I still pulse?_ as the lance flew, the screech of steel on bone deafening him as Blythe deflected it, barely managing to veer it off course and embedding itself in the stone behind them with a lock of white hair.

Blythe was breathing heavily now, and Edelgard’s eyes were wide as she held her weight on her back foot in surprise with her arms raised at her sides as if deciding whether or not to run.

“Professor! I could have killed her here and now,” Dimitri cursed, hands grasping at nothing with eyes narrowed and feral as he stared at Edelgard and his sister as smoke blotted out all other aspects of his scent.

“Stay back,” Blythe said with a voice like stone and a statuesque face to match. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hey, as fucked up as what just happened was, maybe we should leave?” interrupted Claude, eyes trained on the now startled mob behind them. “Betrayal and drama’s great and all, but there are soldiers coming in from the tunnels, and this stalemate won’t hold much longer!”

Blythe turned to Edelgard then, her scent a baffled conglomeration of steel and fresh earth, emotions warring palpably in her. “Come with us,” she all but whispered, only for Edelgard to shake her head and send her scent spiralling back into the prickly scent of iron shavings and rust.  
  
“I chose this, Blythe. I did not let you mark me because I knew this would happen. Even still, if the blood on my hands does not damn me, the fact that I could not resist being with you for a time only to leave us star-crossed surely will. Go to your Archbishop,” she said softly, pivoting with no further words towards the man she had called Thales. “Take us away from here.”

Then the man cracked what seemed like a small bone, and the both of them disappeared in a whirl of shadow.

Blythe fell to her knees, staring sightlessly at where she had been. Claude and Byleth were on her in an instant, forming a guard in front of them as the Sword glowed low in threat of what was to come.

“Blythe, we need to go,” Byleth said, grabbing her shoulder and Claude the other, picking her up bodily and forcing her to walk with them even with her eyes glazed over, her scent muted and rusty and _pained._

“Someone get me a spear!” Dimitri roared. “I’ll carve a path to them myself.”  
  
Byleth was about to let Claude bring her up alone, but Dedue proved to be his savior, bless him. “You cannot, Your Highness,” he said, placing a gauntleted hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “You’re the crown prince. The odds of you surviving are low if you go alone. You’re the last of your line, and you owe it to Faerghus and your people not to throw your life away,” he said in a steely but empathetic tone that Byleth hoped would drain the vitriol from Dimitri’s bones, even if he knew it wouldn’t.

Dimitri was silent for a moment as if mulling it over in his mind, but then he mounted the stairs to dislodge his lance from the masonry and watched with darkened eyes as the lock of Edelgard’s white hair fell unceremoniously to the floor.

“Then it will be my duty to take her head,” Dimitri said before ascending the stairs.

Byleth could only watch as he disappeared into the shadows.

Blythe meanwhile didn’t resist their manhandling, and he was thankful Claude was there to babble harmless platitudes to fill the trek, strong amber and lemon filling the dark stairs which he hoped would be filled by reinforcements.

He could have entered the fray down there, but the thought of it was insulting in how it paled in the face of caring for his sister in this moment. He’d never seen her despondent like this.

As much as it galled him, Edelgard was right. Claude was right. His _father_ was right. They needed to leave, to see the Archbishop, before any more Adrestian soldiers came pouring in from Abyss, which was something Byleth was starting to regret showing to the young emperor, but he would have time to wallow in that later. For now, they needed to return to the surface and help deal with the attack that he’d be naive to assume wouldn’t come, assuming it hadn’t already. The Archbishop had likely already given marching orders and would have an opinion on how to use them, how to push back this absurd, insane threat that had been forming beneath their noses. Garreg Mach was a hive of intrigue. Father had warned them of that when they had first come, but it only proved truer with each new incident.

Flayn had said Rhea was the best fighter among them. He had seen her evaporate a demon dragon with a single spell, but it seemed he was going to see how well her strategies fared.

He looked back out over the tomb, at the crumpled form of what had once been Monica, at the students that had followed them down, at his sister’s hollow eyes, and set his brow firm. They would all need a plan, a strategy, and with Blythe as she was, he would have to bear that burden. He was the tactician, after all.

“We need to tell the Archbishop that there’s a force entering Garreg Mach from Abyss. She’ll need to know if we’re to have any hope of getting out of this alive, but we don’t have time as a luxury” Byleth said with finality as his mind whirred. “Claude, you remember the way to Abyss. Go find Yuri and see if he and the Wolves can block the tunnels so that no more troops can enter.”

“I mean, I can do that, but what about everything up top?” Claude asked.

“It’ll get much worse if what’s below isn’t addressed,” Byleth replied. “Now go.”

Claude nodded in response as he let Hilda take his place at Blythe’s shoulder. “Don’t let some novice archer get in any cheap shots, alright?” he called as he started making his way off toward the tunnels.

“I don’t plan to,” Byleth replies as they follow the sounds of warfare up to the surface.

By the time they broke out of the tomb and back into the cathedral proper, it was both as he had hoped and as he had feared.

The cathedral was abuzz with activity, knights, clergy, staff and students all working, carting resources or huddled fearfully in the pews at prayer as bedding was being put down. The Cathedral was the deepest sector of Garreg Mach and would be the last to fall if it came to it. This was the safest place for civilians, assuming the gap into Abyss could be collapsed safely.

The scent of tension and fear was acrid in his nose. He could even see a few students being pressed into service, Mercedes and Manuela both taking stock of their supplies and preparing them into field packs for the knights to use.

His stomach roiled at the thought. It was one thing to have fought for coin as a mercenary, but it was another to wage war. Despite why he was here, despite what he taught, he had prayed so fervently that perhaps they would not have to experience this.

Soon the cots would be full of the wounded and the scent of death in the air. The fields would churn with mud and blood, corpses left to feed the crows. 

He set his jaw. “Rhea’s chambers,” he said for Hilda’s benefit as they dragged Blythe along. Perhaps she was simply mastering herself, or perhaps the energy of impending war could bring even someone in Blythe’s condition back to themselves. He didn’t know and couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

There would be time for that later.

Rhea’s chambers were unrecognizable. Far from the wide-open grandeur in which they were normally kept, the space was suddenly filled with wide, thick tables, covered in maps and figures, Seteth and Rhea herself both debating over the central table, where normally he and Blythe stood for their debriefs.

He had to admit a certain visceral pleasure when Rhea and Seteth turned from their discussion with annoyance in their eyes only for their entire postures to stiffen. A figurine clattering to the floor as Rhea and Seteth gaped openly at them, faces stricken and pale. Flayn stood up from where she had been sitting away from the table with eyes wider than even theirs, though with more wonder than whatever emotion colored her relatives’.  
  
“We have a problem,” Byleth said, getting right to the point . He could enjoy leaving the Archbishop of the Church speechless when there wasn’t an army at their door.  
  
“I—I noticed,” Rhea managed, mastering herself.

She was not dressed as usual, no. She was dressed for war. Her hair was in a large braid, her vestments replaced with a functional combat dress with greaves and plating over sensitive areas. Her headdress was replaced with… a strange headpiece, a pair of spread wings above her customary flowers, and a one-handed flamberge and buckler sat on a table behind her.

She looked like a completely different person.

“The invaders found a way through Abyss. The knights can marshall an initial defense, but we need to collapse the tunnels or they’ll pincer us,” he began as he stepped up to the table, both Rhea and Seteth parting to give him an almost reverential amount of space.

He pointed at the map where the invasion force was set to invade and the graveyard entrance. It was small and cramped and would only allow a small force to trickle in, but it only took one person with a knife to wreak havoc. “We need to get rid of these entrances, at least temporarily. I’ve sent Claude to find Yuri and the Wolves already. No one knows Abyss better, and they can find strategic points to collapse quickly.”

He looked up to assess how his words were taken and hear feedback, but he was alarmed, however, to see Rhea with tears streaking down her face, pupils wide with a look on her face like a lost child.  
  
“... _M-mother? Is it really you?_ ” she asked, making his mind grind to a complete halt. ” _Have you finally come to save us?_ ” she asked, voice terribly, terribly small, a shaking hand raised to touch him. “ _I… it’s me, Mother… it’s Seiros_ .” He could smell her scent, beautiful and refreshing in a way that he had never smelled Rhea give off — pure, cleansing, none of the usual choking smog he associated with her — and grit his teeth. A lot made sense to him in some deeper part of his heart, but even so the sentiment was misplaced. And now still wasn’t the time .  
  
He caught her wrist before it could touch his face . “ _Sothis isn’t here. It’s still me. It’s still Blythe_ ,” he said with a voice carefully neutral . He would question why her first thought was that he would be anyone else except for himself later. “ _No one will save us except our own_.”

And so, Seiros took her hand back, nodding slowly. “.. _.Of course. Forgive me_ ,” she whispered. And Seiros wept quietly, fingers to the bridge of her nose.  
  
It was Flayn who cared for Seiros then. “ _Forgive her, Byleth. I… she had hoped for so long to see her again. Please give her a moment_.”

As Rhea stood in Flayn’s arms, nuzzling into her neck slowly like an exhausted child, Seteth explained how their siege layout worked: How the archers would sit on the walls and what their siege engine deterrence measures looked like among a great many other things.

It was exhaustive and frankly impressive. If it was that weeping woman’s work, he had to grudgingly give credit where it was due. Without an opposing ace in the hole they could hold on almost indefinitely, so long as supplies lasted, and had Edelgard not charted out Abyss in its entirety, it really could be indefinite, too. He was sure they had a robust infrastructure that could ferry food in from the outside without being spotted.

All this time, she had been… he cut the thought off as his nails dug into the wood grain of the table.

“The defenses look sound. I take it Father’s on the battlements?” He received a nod in return and made a thoughtful noise. “The wheels are in motion. The real question is how we break it. If the Adrestian Empire is really at our door, they’re not going to leave in a month or two. Do we have lines of communication to Faerghus? The Holy Kingdom is loyal, are they not? We have their heir as well, stars know where he’s gone…” he mumbled, losing his train of thought midway as worry gripped at him. Dimitri was missing. He could only hope Dedue would stop him from doing anything foolish. He could only pray.

“ _Byleth_ …” whispered Flayn from beside him. Seiros he could now see was slumped over herself in a chair, face in her hands still. “ _What… happened? Why is Blythe just… standing there?_ ” she asked worriedly, looking meaningfully to where his sister stood, still supported by an impressively poker-faced Hilda, who’d heard things she shouldn’t have. He’d have to speak to her.

“ _Edelgard is the mastermind behind all this, Flayn. She… Blythe is having difficulty coping. She just needs a bit of time, same as your Auntie, I suppose,_ ” he said with what he hoped was a blandly observational tone that did not reveal the legitimate worry he had for his sister. Flayn’s horrified gasp had him worried, however, as did the way she immediately ran to her, taking her into her arms, nuzzling her.

He’d fused with a goddess and he still had no idea what he was or what Blythe had lost. It was clearly more than a simple betrayal — it went deeper than that. He tried to imagine Dimitri doing what Edelgard had, and his mind bluntly refused to even consider the thought.

When this was all over, Blythe would be shattered. Perhaps she already was. Stars knew what would happen with the Eagles, Adrestian nationals as they were, let alone Edelgard herself. Assuming they were the victors.

No. They _would_ be the victors. If he had to take Blythe, Seiros — Rhea, _whoever_ she was — and the entire monastery and carry them to victory on his back, he’d protect them. They were his. There were only two options: protect them or die trying.

He looked at Flayn holding Blythe close, his sister actually responding now, wrapping her arms tightly around the smaller woman, and a pang rang in his chest. He nearly jolted when a strong hand placed itself on his shoulders.

“ _They were not mated, were they?”_ Seteth asked with a seriousness that filled Byleth with an irrational anger.  
  
“ _I’d love to tell you if I had any idea what the hell you meant by that, Seteth,_ ” he countered, tongue barbed with venom. Seteth raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, scent suddenly filling his nose, calm and sedate.

“ _I mean did they bite one another,_ ” he clarified in careful tones. This gave him pause, as Edelgard had mentioned something about that before...

“ _They were not marked._ ” he answered, the prickliness still in his voice. This was a waste of time. Surely they had better things to do than talk about his sister’s torrid liaisons.

Seteth gave a sigh of relief that had him questioning, though. “ _Thank goodness. If they were marked, well… it doesn’t bear thinking about_.”

“ _How fortunate for us, then, that we’re here instead to think about a war that’s at our gates_ ,” Byleth said, unable to fully contain the derision on his tongue . “ _Your sister seems to have mine well in hand, so perhaps we should speak with the Knight-Captain, see what is going on at the front.”_

He had to admit having these _adults_ with all their secrets following his lead for once was more gratifying than he thought. He was being listened to for once, and that alone was fulfilling enough, let alone being the one to actually make the calls and have them heeded.

The walk was informative in its own way. The knights truly were a well-trained force. While students were being used to ferry supplies and messages, the knights stood atop the battlements armed with bows, boiling cauldrons and other accoutrements of siegecraft.

When he made it to his father’s post above the front gate, it was clear that the first attack had not yet been made, for once they reached the top of the battlements over the gates, there was only an orderly line of troops, standing patiently.

“It’s gonna be days of this, By,” Jeralt said, not even turning to see him as they both leaned over the battlements with Seteth a step behind. “They’re gonna stand there like this, days, weeks, make us think they’re gonna try and starve us out. Meanwhile, in the dead of night they’ll sneak a ladder up to the wall, kill the guards, open the gates to slit our throats.”

“It’s what I’d do,” Byleth volunteered with a sigh. “So how do we stop them?”

“Don’t,” Jeralt sighed in turn. “It’s a full-on army, kid. We’ve got, what, eight hundred-something knights and some green students? They’ll slaughter us. All the training in the world won’t help you when you’re three to one.”  
  
“You paint a grim picture, Knight-Captain. What are our options?” asked Seteth, looking over the assembled troops with a gimlet eye.  
  
“Well, we don’t have much,” he admitted as he pushed himself away from the stone. “Best odds are, we try and get a message to Faerghus, pray they get it, and they ride in to save us and their prince. If I were them, I’d slit his throat out-of-hand if they’re serious about conquering the continent. It’s a bad scene.”

“Alternatives?” asked Byleth.  
  
“Cede Garreg Mach,” he said bluntly. “We might be able to sneak Lady Rhea and a few other VIPs through Abyss, but the place is crawling with troops. Get a crack team, maybe we can get them out. Best I can tell, Edelgard’s not out for blood. She might let those who don’t resist go free. Don’t need to tell you they’d take her head if she stayed.”

Byleth’s mind whirred with the effort of finding a way to make any of those plans work. The idea of waiting hopelessly for Faerghus to come to their rescue was out of the question. Too uncertain, too unlikely, even with Dimitri here somewhere with an already eager lance arm. Perhaps… they could hold for a time and try to break free? Just as they try to break in, they try to break out? Use reinforcements as a smokescreen? They’d surely have guards set up below… but he and Blythe were killers of the highest caliber. Anyone short of the Death Knight would be dead in moments. Not even Edelgard couldn know the full extent of their strength.

His mental chess only paused when the scent of earth and rust filled his nose, and both he and Seteth turned as one to spot his sister walking towards them.

She still had that dead look in her now-green eyes.

“Gentlemen,” she said, voice dull and tired. Jeralt, to his credit noticed immediately, barely biting back a hiss through his teeth, the pieces quickly falling into place for him.

“Hey kiddo,” he said gently. “Doing okay?”  
  
“No,” she said, the simple pronouncement floating on the wind leaving the men uncomfortable. “What is our plan?”  
  
“The current idea is to perhaps work to spirit away a few valuable people, the Archbishop, the lordlings, myself and Flayn,” Seteth said with a certain amount of delicateness to his tone without sugar-coating the words as if taking her feelings into heavy consideration. “We would escape to Fhirdiad, marshall a counterstrike there, and send word to the Alliance to strike on two fronts and shatter their army to retake Garreg Mach.”

She nodded slowly, face blank. “I see. If I might, I feel we have one more option available to us.”

The battlement waited with bated breath for her. Fear gripped Byleth’s heart as he _felt_ his sister’s scent grow rustier. “We trick them in turn. Suppose we were to invite the Emperor to parley? She’s no fool, of course, but as well as she may have explored those tunnels, we’re the ones with a map. Rhea, Seteth and I go to parley above-ground at a specific location. Byleth and a crew break into the tunnels and prepare strategically placed explosives, collapsing the meeting ground. From there, we take advantage of the confusion, capture the Emperor and ransom her for our freedom,” she said before pausing. “Assuming the parley point is a relevant one we can prepare within an hour or two.”  
  
A pensive silence overcame them all, the theory taking root as they all considered its possibilities and benefits. It certainly wasn’t a bad one, Byleth thought. They’d already put part of it into motion, and the more difficult and time-consuming half of it at that. He didn’t like the idea of sending two of the Church’s most important figureheads out in striking distance of Edelgard’s axe arm, but if Blythe was truly as close to her heart as it seemed, then she could be swayed.

All that was left was to make it all happen, he supposed.

“...You’re sure you can do this? You’re sure _Rhea_ can do this?” he said, carefully avoiding referring to her breakdown directly. It wouldn’t do for Jeralt to think the Archbishop was compromised.

She nodded once. “We are both recovered and will do what we have to in order to survive. Rhea is nothing if not a survivor,” she said without heat or passion. “I’ll write a note and have Hilda go find Claude and Yuri so they can time the collapse in accordance to the parley.”

Byleth nodded, still unsettled by his sister’s deadened demeanor. This was no mask worn to hide her feelings, there was simply… nothing there. 

Jeralt stepped in at this point. “No to Rhea leaving the monastery. It’s too risky. They want her dead, it’s one of the things they made very clear. Edelgard may not be out for blood, but she already invaded a religious center with an army. I don’t trust her or her generals to play fair,” he stated definitively.

Seteth nodded at that, stepping forward as well. “I agree. There is no need to put her at risk. I am her second in command, all know that I speak with her authority. It would be safer if I were there in her place, with you both.”

The twins were pensive a moment, before nodding one after the other. “That’s fine,” Blythe said simply.

Byleth had to fight the urge to dig his toe into the cobbles awkwardly. “I’ll… leave you to it then, sister,” he said, reaching forward to take her into his arms and nuzzle her.

She did nothing. He may as well have been holding a rusty mannequin, and his heart tore. His sister had been hurt badly, and his instincts demanded he care for her, kill who did this, but he couldn’t allow himself to follow base instincts. They had a war to fight, and there were too many lives on the line for vengeance.

“I love you, Blythe,” he whispered softly enough for the wind to take it away from anyone else on the battlement.  
  
“I love you too, brother,” she said, again with that infuriating deadness to her tone. There was no burst of warmth and life in her scent like when she usually said it. There was hardly anything at all. He thought more on what Seteth said and wondered if it would have been even worse if she had been… marked?

Uncertainly, he let her go and stepped back. “I’ll go down and find Hilda, Blythe. You and Rhea should decide what will be discussed at the parley until the trap is sprung.”

She nodded mutely, and then he was off.

It was a short walk to find Hilda and an even shorter conversation to give her marching orders. As he watched her run off, he realized he’d left himself with nothing to do.

All Byleth could do was wait now. The plan had been put into action, and all that remained was to wait for the signal. He had a light meal and did his best to remain calm.

For lack of a better place to wait, he simply made his way back to his classroom, seated in front of now-pointless lesson plans with the door open, waiting for the call.

There were still ungraded assignments staring up at him there on his desk, many of them with battle formations and hypothetical strategy problems that had seemed so abstract before. He knew that he was a professor at the officers’ academy — his mind _knew_ that — but his heart hadn’t felt the cold rationale of it. That part of him hadn’t been so keen on the potential reality of that knowledge being put to use.

He’d hoped they would never have to use it.

Was he going to get a chance to teach again, or was all of this over now? He still struggled with the enormity of all that was happening. War on their doorstep. Lives at stake, his _children_ in danger.

He gripped his desk until he felt the wood creak beneath his fingers. He couldn’t fail. He _couldn’t_. This had to work, he had to protect his children and Blythe’s as well while she was so… out of sorts. It was his duty as her family to protect her pack while she was unable, a duty he knew Blythe would take on just as solemnly if their positions were reversed.

It was Flayn who finally found him. Where before she had seemed so small in that doorway, she now looked beyond her years armored in a pegasus knight’s flight outfit. “ _It’s time, cousin,_ ” she murmured with all the quiet volume of someone who wanted but couldn’t soften a blow. 

He nodded, standing from his seat as he followed her to the front gate where Blythe and Seteth waited. Rhea’s scent drifted on the wind from somewhere above, likely on the battlements with Jeralt.

With a groan, the gates cracked open just wide enough for them all to walk past in single-file.

No words passed between them as they made their grim march to the parley point, evidenced by a small table, and five chairs. Three for them, two for Edelgard’s party.

They stood patiently at the table until Edelgard and the man she had called Thales stepped forward.

There were no pleasantries as they sat down, Edelgard’s axe leaning meaningfully against the table, Thales’s sword, better described as a deformed jaw-bone hanging from his hip.

“So, you wished to parley,” Edelgard began breezily. “Are you here to discuss terms?”  
  
“What will it take for you to remove your army and leave us in peace, Lady Edelgard?” asked Seteth, voice tense but controlled.

“Archbishop Rhea’s head and the dissolution of the Church,” she said bluntly, failing to surprise anyone at the table. 

“You know we can’t accept that, Edelgard,” said Blythe in that unnaturally blank voice she’d adopted. “If your terms would be so extreme, why did you even accept this parley?”

“To make clear how serious I am and what position you are in,” Edelgard answered. “If you surrender and offer us Rhea, we need spill no more blood. We can dismantle the Church ourselves.”  
  
“And who asked for Rhea’s head? You, or that man you’re with?” Byleth asked shrewdly. “Executing a religious figure is not the move of a just conqueror. What would you stand to gain?”

“A thorn removed. The Church of Seiros was a lie from its very inception. The smallfolk may believe in a Goddess, but Rhea and her _ilk,_ ” Thales said in a rasp , and then at this he paused meaningfully catching all of their eyes, “have been manipulating humanity and the flow of history to keep themselves in positions of power for millennia. There is no Goddess in their mind.”  
  
“But there is in yours, Sir Thales,” Blythe observed placidly, which made Byleth almost smile for how astute it was despite the circumstance . “You called us godlings and spoke of the power of a goddess when we broke from your spell, one which used the life of your spy as a catalyst. Dark magics. To hear you speak of it, I would say that even if what you say is true — which I am not — your own plans are no less grandiose if the murder of a god is central to it. Why overthrow one tyrant to install another?”  
  
He took vicious satisfaction in seeing Edelgard blink quickly, before turning to catch Thales out of the corner of her eye. So their alliance was not ironclad… both Edelgard and Thales’ scents sharpened in their own way, mint and ash filling the air.

“Indeed. The overtaking of Garreg Mach offers little in the way of meaningful strategic value were you not someone like Thales,” Seteth said, eyes locking with the other man’s. 

“What type of man Thales is was not the topic of discussion,” Edelgard cut in frostily. “Let me be clear: give us Rhea. I care not for whatever paltry appeasements you offer, if you do not give me Rhea, then Garreg Mach will fall.”  
  
“What if they gave me instead?” asked Blythe, making Byleth’s head whip around to look at her in alarm. Edelgard, too, paused at this, eyes widening.  
  
“Thales wants a manakete for blood. I am a manakete. Leave my family alone, and I will go with you quietly,” she said slowly. “I would belong to you entirely.”

“We want Rhea,” Thales interrupted, fist slamming onto the table. “Not some half-breed.”  
  
“Perhaps ‘godling’ is a better term, Sir Thales. The Lady Edelgard may wish to have a goddess to serve her cause, and perhaps she’d wish to speak her own mind instead of you making assumptions,” she said, with that crushing blankness she seemed to have weaponized: an absolute void. Not even he could tell if she was being serious or just playing for time.

“Well, Edelgard? Don’t you want me? I can’t let you hurt them, and you know that. I’d do anything for them — anything at all. Can’t you do this for me?” she asked gently, the first suggestion of emotion sliding into her voice as the dry, dead scent of rust abated for just a moment and fresh earth filled his nostrils. She leaned over the table then, eyes staring into the Emperor-to-be’s wide, shuddering lilac ones. “Can’t we be together?”

Byleth knew that whatever Blythe was doing was working when he heard a telltale shuddering sigh from Edelgard, her scent darkening as ozone permeated the air. Neither he nor Seteth said anything, simply watching mesmerized as Blythe stared at her lover, the first true whispers of her scent breaking through the crust of rusty pain which had encased her.

“I—” Edelgard began, only to be interrupted when a rumbling began beneath their feet.

And then came the fall. The entire parlay area collapsed… partially. The table juddered, as did their seats, and then everyone but Edelgard stood suddenly, drawing their weapons in a crash of dirt and dust. Byleth and Blythe both expertly vaulted over the table, leaping for their targets instinctively — Blythe for Edelgard and he for Thales — and Seteth leapt back to offer ranged support.

The earth around them sparked unnaturally, sputtering before another collapse of earth juddered and a divot formed in the flatland of the parley area where negotiations had decisively broken down.

To their opponents’ credit, they were ready. With steady stances they withstood their attack, both strikes blocked as the twins fought out of the pit, taking the disadvantageous lower position as they fought up the steep hill of unstable earth that had somehow failed to collapse despite what, knowing Yuri and Claude, should have been an excessive amount of explosives.  
  
Thales was skilled, but he was no Death Knight. Blythe, though… her scent was _blazing._ She fought in silence even as Edelgard grunted and swung her axe, but he could feel something was changing in his sister, though he was too preoccupied to understand what.  
  
It was only when Edelgard began taunting her when they were on the flat ground that he began to understand. “Trickery, my teacher!? I thought you better than that!” she mocked, parrying a strike.  
  
“I could say the same, Edelgard!” Blythe growled, her sword ringing out against the emperor’s axe and leaving the beginnings of a chip in its edge. “But I suppose I failed, didn’t I? I failed you! I failed us all!” she cried, voice suddenly half-crazed, as if an entire traumatic day’s worth of emotions were flooding out of her, breaking the walls that had held her sanity in place.

“I didn’t teach you right! I didn’t love you properly!” she screamed, each strike emphasized by another point and a crash against Edelgard’s axe, scent so overpowering as to feel like a sandstorm of rust that overtook them. “Well, if I have failed you so utterly, I suppose I have no choice but to make amends!” she howled, as to his and Thales’ surprise both, Blythe blocked a two-handed swing with her bare left arm, a soft _crunch_ that made the flush of effort on Edelgard’s face drain into ashen paleness.

It was only when Blythe’s blocking arm reached forward to take advantage of the Emperor’s naked horror that Blythe grasped her by the throat and lifted her up into the air with a single hand that time seemed to continue again.

Blythe began walking, Edelgard held aloft as the enormity of the situation became clear. Knights were rushing out of the gates to meet soldiers as Seteth ensured that no one could approach Blythe as she dragged Edelgard bodily back towards the monastery.

It was during a moment when Byleth was accosted by a pair of soldiers that Thales found the time to level some bizarre magic at the gates, a jet black rod for lack of a better term appearing in the gate’s cracked opening along its width. A way to assure it remained so, he could safely surmise. 

Two more dead soldiers, and then they were back at it, Blythe leading some grim march of trailing fights, soldiers fighting to get to her, Seteth and the Knights pushing them back in a losing battle.

He knew she and Edelgard were talking even now. Or Blythe was speaking, leaving Edelgard with no choice but to listen.

It was chaos. Students scurried away in fear as archers attempted to rain arrows down onto the invaders from above. The gardens and buildings he’d equated with peace and thoughtfulness now the theater for as grim a battle as he’d ever fought under his father.

And yet, the sun shone, and the cold was bracing as opposed to life-devouring. By the time they reached the bridge, Blythe finally turned, her blade at Edelgard’s throat forcing Thales to stop his dogged attempts to break past him and Seteth.

Blythe stood before the invading force, and the fighting lulled to a stop as everyone realized the Emperor’s life was so thoroughly at risk.

She stood before them all, every inch the Ashen Demon they had dubbed her with Rhea behind her, watching fearfully. Further back before the bridge he saw many other fearful, curious faces.

Blythe’s demands came with an eerie gentleness. “Let us go. Take your soldiers and leave, and you can have her back,” she said with eyes slit, the arm holding Edelgard he now realized bearing thick, blackened nails, long and sharp with the suggestion of viridian beneath her sleeve.  
  
“Leave and don’t come back. We don’t want to fight. We _never_ did. Why can’t you see? Look at this. We don’t need war,” she nearly moaned, agony veining through her scent as she held Edelgard in what would have been a lover’s grasp were it not for the blade at her throat.

“We don’t need war,” she whispered again, voice shaking for only Edelgard and enhanced manakete ears to hear.

“I spit at your lies, demon! There will never be peace until you and all your kind are dead and buried! We will not be beholden to alien gods who believe themselves our betters!” Thales hissed, salt and ash pouring off of him, and Byleth had to admit that the pain of inhaling so many negative scents legitimately bothered him. He pulled back, closer to Blythe, to protect her if need be.

“No! We never did! Never, never! We — why can’t we _live!?_ Why? Why must I do this? Why did my aunt have to do any of this? Why couldn’t you leave us all alone?” Blythe begged, rust shattering into sick, bloody mud as her sword arm began to shake.  
  
“You truly are a child if you think it was ever that simple. Let me free you of your ignorance!” he roared, and Byleth already knew he’d be too slow to stop the cast.

A black orb wreathed in lightning flew from Thales’s hand and landed beneath Blythe’s feet, the stone swallowing it effortlessly.

There was a moment of sickening pin-drop silence, until Rhea quickly dashed backwards, along with Flayn and Seteth.

Then, the world fell apart. It came to him in flashes of vision. He saw Rhea scream, an arm reached for him as he ran towards safety.

He saw Blythe running in the opposite direction entirely, throwing Edelgard over the crumbling masonry as she started to fall.

Perhaps if he had kept running thoughtlessly, watched out for his own hide, he could have made it safely into Rhea’s arms, but he didn’t.

He pivoted, reaching desperately for Blythe to catch her, save her, stop her from falling down into the impossible depths of Garreg Mach’s canyon. He saw the fear in her eyes, slit and gleaming even in the daylight, her mouth open as her taloned hand reached for him, but it was all too late.

And then he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, White Clouds draws to a close! It's been a fun journey, one that's lasted for the better part of a year. Thank you to each and every one of you who's stuck around this far. Special shout-out to everyone on the discord server. We wouldn't have made it so far so quickly without you all there ❤💛💙💜
> 
> (If you want to join and are at least 18, you can join our server here:  
> https://discord.gg/qDVW2pj )
> 
> We hope to see you all for the Viridian Stars route proper coming up soon!


	34. A Day and a Night and Half a Decade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins wake up.

It wasn’t as she would have imagined it, coming back from the dead.

It wasn’t some slow, agonizing procedure that woke her with aches and pains so much as waking up from a particularly deep sleep one wasn’t tempted to fight through back to the waking world.

It was difficult , but eventually she did open her eyes,  finding herself staring up at what she assumed was perhaps the afterlife’s ceiling, a stately carved wood that had been lovingly maintained. Her head slowly turned to take in the rest of the room: small, but not cramped, a richly-embroidered rug on the floor, what she assumed to be a matching bed on the other side of it, with a tuft of green hair visible on its pillow. Probably Byleth’s, since they’d died  together .

With increasing ease, she pushed away the thick blankets atop her and put her feet on the ground. These weren’t her clothes… and certainly not what she would have imagined the dead to wear. They were just pajamas in deep yellow reminiscent of the Golden Deer crest.

That thought reminded her that there was more than her death to think about, and her mood dove.

She’d failed them all. Garreg Mach had been under attack,  she’d  foolishly saved Edelgard’s life, and her dear brother  had died alongside her. Without them, she didn’t know what  would have happened , who  would have fought to protect them. Could Rhea really  have pushed them back? If so, how?   
  
It all washed over her with a placid clarity that had come to be familiar to her since Edelgard’s betrayal.  She had felt more than her fair share of pain, and once the tidal wave of adrenaline had subsided, she was left with nothing but debris.

Edelgard… oh, Edelgard, sweet Edie, beloved El… where had she gone wrong? How  had she not  seen  the signs? Of course they had spoken about politics, morality, and all manner of topics, but always in the abstract. She’d never gotten angry or overly passionate in their discussions, nothing to imply that she had been planning a revolution beneath her nose.

She held onto Edelgard’s bitter words in the tomb, about how she hadn’t been able to resist her, that at least they had not been part of whatever plan she had been working towards.

Her heart ached.  Whatever she had had before was washed out to sea .

She looked at her left arm, still beastly from her battle,  with long, black claws and beneath her sleeve when she pulled it there were dull green scales peppered across the top of her forearm, not quite wrapping around.  Well , it confirmed what she remembered at least.

She gave it an experimental flex, finding no lost movement before standing and making her way over to her brother’s bed. It seemed he was still fast asleep, but he’d wake up soon enough. She checked the door, surprised to find it locked from the outside. Curious…

She was beginning to think that perhaps she wasn’t dead after all, and perhaps that was worse. Surely the afterlife wouldn’t lock her in a room with her brother for eternity, but… if she was alive, then where was she? How long had she been asleep? By rights she should be dead, a splatter at the bottom of the canyon.

This didn’t  _ seem _ like a prison. Even if she was a valued captive now, if she was in enemy hands, she doubted they’d be kind, even with Edelgard’s influence.

She began to do her morning stretches. Starting from the calves and moving up, rendering herself limber and refreshed. It felt good, like she hadn’t done it in a long time. She didn’t feel or sense any wounds, but she certainly felt out of practice somehow, weaker  even . She didn’t like it. How long had she been out?   
  
It was with her on the floor, stretching to reach her toes and managing it with more effort than usual that she finally heard the door open, two locks giving distinctive sounds as they disengaged. She looked up at the door, green eyes curious.

It was with equal parts confused surprise and exhausted relief that it was Flayn who walked in, holding a heavy tome. Upon seeing her seated on the floor it fell to the floor with a loud  _ thump _ ,. Her hands  flew  to her mouth, wide eyes looked over her, ocean spray filling her nose.

For lack of anything else, Blythe said, “Hello, Flayn.”   
  
“I-I’ll be right back!” she called frantically, sprinting back out of the door. To find Seteth, she supposed? Rhea? She stood up and began trying to shake Byleth awake.

“Hey. Flayn’s coming back with Seteth. Wake up,” she said, jostling his shoulder and eliciting a displeased moan. He didn’t like being woken up forcibly, but he’d want to be here.

She went down to her knees, instinct taking over as she slowly wrapped an arm around him and  pulled  his throat closer to her so she could smell the muted scent of petrichor and juniper. She liked her brother’s smell, and she’d sooner lose herself in him than in her own mind. She kissed his throat softly, eliciting a gentle purr from his chest, making her smile.   
  
“Come on. Wake up, By. Up and at ‘em. You don’t want Father  to make you run laps, do you?” she teased, like when they were children.

“No…” he sighed as he slowly pulled the covers back to reveal his own set of yellow pajamas, same as hers. “What’s going on?” 

It was an unusual thing for her brother to ask, given he woke earlier than anyone  — hell, she couldn’t recall the last time Jeralt had made him run laps — but the circumstances  themselves  were unusual to say the least.

“Don’t know. I figure Flayn and Seteth will help explain,” she said gently, stepping back to let him stretch. She hoped they had a good bathroom. Byleth would demand one, she thought ruefully.

Thinking about her brother was easier right now. Her brother was safe, her brother was family, and he would never leave her. More than a nervous declaration in the face of an uncertain world, it truly felt like a universal constant, a fact as she thought it. It put her whole being at ease to know he’d never leave her, never betray her.

Flayn and Seteth both finally returned, Flayn again gasping with her hands to her face upon seeing Byleth upright in bed. “You’re awake! Both of you!” she said with a mistiness to her voice as she turned to Seteth. “Oh, finally, they’re back!”

“Professors Eisner,” began Seteth slowly. “Welcome back. Are you alright? Do you require anything?”   
  
“Aside from a bath and some barber’s tools, perhaps some scented oils and soaps, I’m fine,” Byleth  said predictably , still seeming a bit groggy,  but Blythe knew he wouldn’t be fully awake until every trace of sleep had been physically purged from his body .   
  
“I’m fine too. What’s happened, Seteth? The last thing I remember is the fall,” she said. “How did we survive?”

Seteth sighed, as he often did,  and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “You both could probably use a walk. I can begin explaining as we go and fetch you your items and clothing.”

The pair stood, and once they were close enough to be taken in hand at the same time, Flayn hugged them both with deceptive strength as the scent of fresh, clean ocean mixed with her brother’s windiness. It was almost like she was at the beach. She felt herself relax, a hand falling gently onto Flayn’s shoulder. “I missed you both so much.”

Blythe honestly didn’t know what to say to that, especially since she was starting to have a bad feeling about everything.

They followed Seteth in silence, feeling thoroughly out of place in their  stately nightwear and bare feet as they pattered almost silently across polished tile. Everything seemed airy from how swaths of sheer fabric allowed in both light and...  _ seabreeze _ , Blythe realized with apprehension beginning to flower in her stomach .

It seemed the same wicked flower was blooming in her brother as well, as he found the courage to ask the question that sat on both their lips: “Seteth, where  _ are _ we?”   
  
“Derdriu,” he said,  not even so much as turning to make eye contact as they continued unimpeded through the halls .

“Seteth?” came a voice from further down the corridor that alarmed her with its familiarity  as a well-dressed man with chestnut hair and dark skin rounded a corner .

Blythe looked over them more closely. He wore  garments with the warm yellow she knew to be popular in the Alliance with a crest over one shoulder — a noble’s shoulder pauldron,  she realized — and an earring. His jaw was sharp and masculine, green eyes glimmering with intelligence… those very eyes then turned to perceive her, and she believed that in that moment their faces were identical.   
  
“...Blythe? Byleth!?” called what was, impossibly, Claude von Riegan.

The both of them stood mute as he stepped forward, taking them both into a firm hug, their noses smelling the truth of it: nag champa, amber, and the sweet smell of  ripe oranges.    
  
“You’re back!” he cheered softly, smile radiant for them both.

  
Gods, he smelled good. All she could think about in her confused state was their last interaction at the winter ball just a few weeks ago.   
  
“Claude,” chimed in Seteth, only a bit forcefully. “I understand this is a joyous occasion, and I can tell that the both of them are happy to see you, but also quite confused. You have… changed  since they last saw you , after all.”

  
“Indeed,” Byleth said in a voice that Blythe couldn’t tell was flat from either prurience or horror, neither of which she could blame him for. She didn’t know which was stronger within herself, muted as the feelings were. She might as well have been trying to listen for voices from beneath the water.

“Here, why don’t we have a seat in my study. You both look like you could use a drink,” Claude said, interrupting their thoughts with a hand wave to lead them away.

Entering, Blythe couldn’t help but be reminded of Claude’s dorm back at Garreg Mach. It was an absolute mess with books jutting out at uneven angles and stacked poorly on the shelves, not to mention the desk where at least a dozen sat opened to various pages with scrawled-on paper strewn about it all. Claude moved through it with an ease that spoke of practice and routine that told her the room had been in this state for quite some time before he sat down at his desk, which had two chairs pulled up already, likely for Seteth and Flayn if Blythe had to guess, if only for how orderly that little corner seemed to be compared to everything around it. An eye in the storm .

He reached behind a stack of books from beyond where she could see, poured something, and then slid two cups out to them.

Blythe blinked. “This is tea.”

“Yeah, I figured alcohol was a bad idea,” Claude replied with a little half-shrug that made his cape flutter a bit. “I always wake up from a nap with a dry mouth. ”

Beside her, Blythe could see her brother shift out of his proper posture into a more comfortable slouch, and she had to admit it felt a little better to know she wasn’t alone in her discomfort.

Claude seemed to see it, too, because his eyes softened, and his mouth turned up at the corners slightly as he said, “That was some nap, huh? ”

“Yeah,” Blythe replied, staring at her reflection, green in all the places she shouldn’t be, before taking a thoughtful sip. Seiros blend. He remembered.

“I’d hardly call it a nap,” Byleth said, blunt in a way that she knew meant he didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. He looked up, meeting Claude’s eyes. “How long were we asleep? ”

Claude took in a deep breath without breaking eye contact — a feat lesser men had failed in doing, though he looked now every bit their betters — before letting it out silently through his nose. “Almost five years now .”

The cup slipped from Blythe’s fingers then and clattered to the floor, soiling the elaborate woven rug and likely permanently staining it and every book around it.

She couldn’t even bring herself to sigh, only stare at the damage she had wrought. “I’m sorry,” she said, a rote apology. “I’m sure that was priceless.”

“Nah, nothing Duke Riegan money can’t fix or replace. Perks of being born into nobility,” Claude said. Then he stopped, a wry smile spreading across his face. “You can always replace a thing. Other stuff you can’t.”

The  _ you can’t replace people _ went unsaid, and while she knew it to be true, she found it did little to alleviate the still tide that had come and settled where her heart should have been.

She imagined she should feel bad for how it came from obvious pain in his own, but even that seemed beyond her now .

How callous of her.

“What…” she began instead, “...What happened after we fell? ”

“Adrestia overran the monastery,” Claude replied, his voice more sober than she had ever heard, and she could hardly hold him up to the image of the mischievous boy in her mind, a memory that seemed to be fading in the sunlight even now. “Then there was a dragon, so we helped everyone evacuate through Abyss thanks to the Wolves.”

“We?” Byleth repeated.

“Me, the Wolves, Seteth,” Claude clarified, “and your father. ”

“He made it out?” Byleth said with a deep sigh. “Thank Sothis.”

“Yeah, he helped make sure all of the students made it home before regrouping with the rest of the knights,” Claude replied.

It was Blythe’s turn to pipe up. “All the students?”

“Well, uh…” Claude started, scratching his head in a way that told her he was trying to choose his words carefully. “All the Lions and Deer, anyway.”

“What about the Eagles?” Blythe asked, volume building in her voice. “Why were they left behind?”

“The Adrestian Army took them beyond the front lines. If they’d followed us, they never would have let us get out like we did,” Claude answered, quickly as though he was trying to make up for having misspoken.

Blythe unclenched the fist she had made, her taloned hand leaving grim red crescents on her palm. She would master herself whether she wanted to or not, but she found that the breath she let out took the tide with it, leaving the smell of brine behind to make way for the rot. What Claude had said was true, and she couldn’t fault him or her father for the decision that had been made. It had been a difficult one, but a sound one. They would be safe with Edelgard and their own families, if only for a time .

“And Rhea?” she asked once she could trust her own voice .

“We have yet to find her,” came Seteth’s voice as both he and Flayn entered the room proper, closing the door silently behind them. “Knight-Captain Jeralt and the rest are still searching.”

“Still searching?” repeated Blythe this time. “How could it be that she’s vanished without a trace? She’s the Archbishop, surely someone has seen her.”

“We were lucky enough to find the two of you,” Flayn said with a shining tremor to her eyes that silenced Blythe in her tracks. “We have to be thankful for that at least. ”

Blythe had the good sense to look chagrined, taking a moment to pick up her spilled teacup and staring into its depths as she looked for some sign of meaning in its splattered tea leaves across one side.   
  
There was no point avoiding it any longer. “...How did you find us? Where were we?” she asked quietly  without turning around to face them .

Flayn clasped her hands over her chest as she spoke. “We… well,  _ Yuri  _ found you. He’s still in Abyss with the Wolves.  You were both halfway down the river that ran through the canyon under Garreg Mach. That was perhaps two years ago. Since then, Yuri helped bring you to us, and we’ve kept you safe with Claude’s connections while… the war happened.”

“And what of that, then? Who’s winning?” interjected Byleth  with a volume to his voice that spoke of desperation .   
  
“It’s a stalemate, by most accounts,” said Claude with a sad shrug. “Meat grinder. The lines are still drawn and Faerghus is still our ally, ostensibly. Not so much Fhirdiad, but the Blue Lions and their houses are with us but Adrestia’s not budging. Whoever moves first falls victim to whatever the other side has planned. We’re not at peace, there are still soldiers on the front, but it’s not  _ as  _ bad as it was when everything started.”

“Faerghus?” Byleth echoed hopefully. “And what of Dimitri? Is he on the front then?”

The sudden stench of rotten fish, bitter tea, and stale air were answer enough. A stone sat in her stomach in fearful anticipation of what was to come. It was Claude who coughed uncomfortably, though, looking pained as he turned to give Byleth his full attention.

“Teach… I’m so sorry,” he said,  his tone taking on something like sympathy but unable to alter the course of what had long since passed . “But Dimitri’s dead.”   
  
There was a loaded silence as they all allowed her brother to process that statement. He reeked of salt now, still as a statue,  and then the room filled with poisonous air that made her unthinkingly put a hand to her nose.   
  
“...Did he die well?” asked Byleth, his voice  small , almost choked.

It was Seteth’s turn to give the news it seems as he spoke up. “ There is a woman high in Fhirdiad’s court named Cornelia who leads Adestia’s faction within the Kingdom. A few months into the war, she invaded Fhirdiad with Imperial forces. They captured him as a political prisoner and had him executed .” 

Horror crawled through Blythe’s veins like ice chips. Thoughtlessly, she put a hand on Byleth’s thigh for lack of any idea of what to do but desperate to offer comfort. The person her brother cared for was… dead, killed by his own people before her foolish brother even got to cherish him properly, like she had, however briefly , with Edelgard.

She didn’t want to pity him. She knew damned well there was no easier way to incense him, have him raise his shields, and refuse to let anyone in, but she had to do something. Her instincts were howling to care for him in this terrible, terrible moment.

Two twins, both alike in agony.

It would be almost poetic if it weren’t such a sick joke.

She… Edelgard was really doing this. Would really kill Dimitri.  _ Had  _ killed him.

How had she misunderstood her so completely? What had happened to the woman who blushed and tittered at the gentlest compliments, who snorted when she laughed too hard, who cried at night when she was alone?   
  
Her pack had hurt Byleth’s. How could she — there was no way to make such a terrible crime right. But she had to try. Had to… do something, anything.

She said nothing, rendered mute by the pain she felt for her brother and the guilt living inside her. She reached and grabbed his unresisting hand in both of hers and stared down at it, too ashamed to meet his eyes. 

She looked at the monstrous claw she grew to protect him from her lover.

She’d failed.

The silence had gone on just a shade too long, prompting Seteth to speak . “Listen, you two… I understand this is a lot, because it is. It is important you take your time and reacclimate yourselves to things and how they’ve changed. Of course, we hope for your help, but not before you feel yourselves well enough to do so,” he said, Flayn nodding sagely behind him.

“Yeah. With  _ both  _ Professors on our side? I can’t even imagine,” said Claude, grinning toothily as he tried to alleviate some of the tension in the room. “We’ll make things better. We’ll…  we could start by contacting the Blue Lions, and then talk to the Deer, get the gang back together, and we can start making a  _ real  _ plan to start winning this war instead of sitting on our hands. With your two, we’ve got a real shot at changing the balance!”

When neither she nor Byleth rose to meet him, he continued . “But only when you’re both sure you’re okay,” he clarified  before  leaning forward and speaking in an almost conspiratorial tone. “You’ll be our aces. I know you’ll be able to protect us.”

That last phrase ran her through the heart. “Because I did such a good job the first time,” she said bitterly, voice wavering. “I fell in love with a traitor and I didn’t even know it, I disappeared for 5 years and let —”

“No, Blythe,” said Byleth softly, reaching to pull her unresisting to his chest. “I know. I know. It’s not your fault. Neither of us.” 

His scent was still as salty as brine, but there was that undercurrent of juniper  returning to it that Blythe couldn’t help but find comfort in, however small. So she let herself be held, if only to let the pain ebb away from the edges of her heart . “I hurt you,” she whispered breathily,  pain laboring her voice . “My pack hurt yours. I’m so sorry.”

Seteth coughed at that  as he stepped behind both of them, looming but not touching. “ Actually… I think it’s time we spoke regarding that issue, if only to better understand your feelings,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, not that either of them would object.

“Packs?” inquired Claude  with a furrowed brow. “What does that mean? ”   
  
Seteth simply shook his head. “I’m sorry, Claude. You know I am grateful for all that you’ve done, but this conversation is for myself, Flayn, Byleth and Blythe alone,  as it concerns their heritage,” he said, clear and simple as he stepped back towards the door . “We will leave you to your duties, and I am sure we will find each other again soon.”

Blythe gave a nod and stood as well, leveling an apologetic glance Claude’s way, who simply smiled and waved it off. “Yeah, sure. You do what you have to, Seteth. I’m sure I’ll wheedle it out of them if I really wanna know,” he said, still asserting that jocular mood.  “I think I’m owed a few years’ worth of tea anyway.”

She gave the man who was Claude but not  _ her  _ Claude a half-hearted wave goodbye as she walked off with the group. It was scary, how much he’d changed in five short years.  It had only been an eyeblink in her mind.

... Then again , if she truly was a full-blooded Kete, then five years would remain an eyeblink while she was conscious, too.

She tried to tamp her thoughts down, silence her traitorous mind which so easily pained her. She grabbed Byleth by the arm and leaned her head onto his shoulder, hoping it soothed him  as it did for her .

It wasn’t long before Seteth ushered them into a private room. His, if she had to guess from the large, encumbered-but-organized desk and the smell of clean wind and flowers in the air. 

Seteth locked the door behind them.

“Blythe, Byleth. Your packs… you understand the basic concept,” he began awkwardly. “Your classes, the students… they were yours. You loved them and felt the urge to protect them. You still do, I’m sure.”

The brine in Byleth’s scent reared its head for a moment before subsiding among the juniper once more .   
  
“But that’s not what a pack is. You adopted the children because the children are close to you and important to you. It’s in your nature to protect and cherish them as parts of your community, but a true pack isn’t like a class house or  anything of that sort ,” Flayn said as she led them to Seteth’s bed to take a seat, standing in front of them and matching their seated heights.

“manaketes love family, we cherish it. Our — Father and Rhea both said Zanado was communal, everyone loved each other, just like you love your children, but… pack is more than that. It’s special. When everyone is family, we need more signifiers of intimacy,” she said, babbling a fair bit and wringing her hands nervously.

Blythe noticed her slip, her mention of a father, but did not push. She needed to know this.

“P-packs are, um, bonds of loyalty. Everyone in a pack swears the same promise to the other  members : to protect them, love them, cherish them, and be their strength when they are weak. The, um, the reason that’s so important is…” she gulped audibly, scent some frenetic mixture of excited, fearful, nervous and hopeful.   
  
“Rhea isn’t here anymore. She was the leader of our pack, which was the three of us: me, her, and Father,” she explained, pointing to Seteth who was standing behind her supportively. “He’s, ah… that’s another thing. If we want to do this we need to be honest. W-we were going to tell you!” She raised her hands in alarmed sincerity, palms up and open. “It just… things got in the way, and it was never the right time… And then it was too late.”

Seteth stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Just so. And now, it is time we do our duty as your kin and as people who care for you deeply. Rhea wished to hold off on the offer due to the antipathy between Byleth and herself, not wishing to push you and Blythe further away from each other by only offering it to her, but times have changed. She is gone, and I, as... acting leader of the last surviving pack of manaketes in all the world, wish to change that now.”   
  
It took a moment for the enormity of what had been said to properly set into Blythe’s dazed mind. So much had already happened, and now this too.

“So… how does that change anything?” Blythe asked, voice uncharacteristically small. “I care for you both already. I’d fight and die for you  — thought I did, even — so your happiness is my happiness.”   
  
“Because now we can be even closer! We can be part of a pack together! We can be together, share with each other, care for each other in all the ways we can to make sure we’re all at our best! We’ll, we’ll be like a human family…” Flayn said, her excitement gradually petering down to an embarrassed mumble. “We can… we can nest together and always be there for each other. No more human rules.  We can do what comes naturally .”   
  
Blythe was admittedly at a loss. She’d hoped desperately to get in touch with her roots, to truly understand what it meant to be a manakete, and this was to be a part of that. She was admittedly thrilled at the prospect, at people who understood her and respected her needs and desires as a manakete and shared in them.

But all the same, it felt hollow in the face of her failure, of all she’d lost. Her love had betrayed her, and her children were scattered to the winds never to be seen again unless, horror of horrors, it were on a battlefield.

She didn’t know who to trust or how.

“These oaths… are binding?” she asked slowly. “We can’t break them, even if we want to?”

Flayn shook her head. “No. It is more a promise. To become a pack member is to let someone into your life and to learn to love and cherish them as a member of the pack, in whatever way that may be. We would work together for the betterment of everyone.”

Blythe felt something in her chest break, and a bitter smile stained her lips. “How can you ask such a thing of me, Flayn?”   
  
“...What?”   
  
“They’re all gone. Edelgard, the Eagles, everyone I took care of, everyone that I’d sworn to protect — gone. I might have to  _ kill  _ them. How can I do that again?” she asked, bitterness darkening her words. “I’ve failed. I’m no good for anyone.”

“You’ve always been good for me. Through everything,” came Byleth’s voice next to her. It was soft in a way Blythe wasn’t used to hearing, and she let her shoulders fall, the fight leaving her with it. His voice shouldn’t be small, she thought. Quiet, sure, soft-spoken even more so, but never small. She had defended him more than once as children from those twice their size for it, all so he could be the way he was.

He met her eyes then, and she had never seen them so heavy.

“We’re the only ones who’d understand,” he continued, and Blythe knew then that she’d kill for him .

They took each other in their arms then and nuzzled almost desperately, reaffirming their bond to one another. “I love you,” she whispered, thinking of her cherished memories, and of Byleth in them. Her brother, her hero, the person who mattered more to her than anyone else. The boy, the man who had fought for her, defended her with his life, had always been true to her, and she knew beyond any pale shadow of doubt that he would do anything for her as she would for him.

He was her other half  in a way that no two people on this planet could say .

It was only distantly that she remembered that they were not alone, turning her head to look at Flayn gesturing frantically at her father with her eyes shining, the two of them having their own silent conversation. Blythe pulled back languidly, turning to look at Flayn and Seteth slowly so that Byleth could see what she was doing and he could do the same.

Seteth coughed awkwardly.

“Blythe… I admit I had… I was preparing an entire monologue to explain why pack is important, but you both have proven to me with your actions that whether you knew of packs or not, you you understand exactly what it means,” Seteth said, voice more emotional than she thought she’d ever heard. He gripped his wrists tightly behind his back, tension obvious in his shoulders. “When… when Flayn’s mother passed, it had been just the three of us. Rhea was ruling the Church alone. We were pack, and she was my wife.”

He paused and took a breath to brace himself for what was likely one of his worst memories .

“Byleth, it was the most unspeakable agony to have my bond-mate die before her time. The only thing that kept me going on was knowing that Flayn needed me and loved me still, and that it was my duty to care for her and love her in turn,” he said, a fond hand returning to Flayn’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “My pack kept me going. It kept me alive, gave me purpose even when it all seemed pointless.  I can only hope we can afford both of you the same in a time like this .”

Seteth and Flayn facing them with honest intent in their eyes so powerful it was like a physical force,  and Blythe felt her heart sputter for it.   
  
Blythe reached blindly to grasp her brother’s hand, turning to meet his gaze for a moment. His gleaming green eyes gave no indication of what he was thinking, but she understood him all the same.

“You… want to treat us the way Byleth and I treat each other?” Blythe  started and then raised her hand before either could object. “No, I know, not precisely like us. What we have is one of a kind,” she said, turning to look at Byleth once more, the barest upturning of his lips giving her strength. “I… that sounds wonderful. I don’t know why you’d want me, but… Byleth says I’m worth it, and I believe him. I’ll join you,”   
  
“As will I. Wherever my sister goes, I go,” said her brother, her sweet, beautiful brother next to her.   
  
Then Flayn let loose a soft, keening noise, her chest rumbling with a deep purr that she couldn’t hold back any longer. She leaped, wrapping them both in a tight hug, pure seafoam cleansing her mind even as Seteth reached around all their shoulders, holding them close.   
  
“I swear to you both, so long as I draw breath, I will do all I can to protect you and ensure your happiness,” he said in firm, formal tones weighed down with emotion all the same.

“And me,” piped up Flayn, muffled from somewhere beneath them.   
  
“And me,” sighed Blythe with what felt like the first laugh she’d taken in years, which was actually true.   
  
“And _ I _ ,” said her brother  with that infuriating correctional tone of his that she loved all the same , as he allowed the presence of the others, even if he was fairly monopolizing her as he nuzzled her.

And then, for the first time in half a decade and a day, Blythe felt like maybe she could be happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two manaketes, both alike in dignity, In fair Derdriu, where we lay our scene, From Ancient Grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
> 
> Well, we're here. Is it everything you imagined? Well, whatever your answer, don't fear. The story will continue, and we intend to make good on your trust in us for staying with us.
> 
> Thank you for staying with us for so long. We hope you'll stay with us to the end, because we have plenty we still want to share with you.
> 
> If you'd like, please consider joining us at our discord! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm It's an 18+ Discord for safety reasons, but please consider coming to meet us and our humble community.


	35. A War Well Fought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude brings the twins onto the field, and deals with the consequences.

If there was one thing Claude hated about wars, it was the fact that there was a lot of needless human death.

But war council meetings came in at a solid number two on his list. Not that there was a list. Maybe he should make a list. It would definitely alleviate his poor, poor brain from drowning in the minutiae of… whatever they were talking about right now. He honestly couldn’t remember where he’d gotten lost, but he for sure didn’t have the context of maybe-theoretical battle lines at what he hoped was their border or else he needed to brush up on his geography.

Shit, he’d gotten enough of that back in the palace and again at the officers’ academy. If he never saw another arbitrary border line on a map again, it would be too soon.

He’d much, much rather be back in his study poring over books that he had found and ones that Yuri had sent him. Some months or maybe a year or two ago, he wasn’t sure anymore, one of the batches had even included some handwritten tomes with pages so yellowed that Claude was afraid they might flake off. He’d been so afraid to even read them at night because one wrong sputter from a candle, and he’d’ve lost it all. Yet he’d been advised to open the windows in the evening to let in the warm sea breeze, and the humidity had helped the paper far more than he’d expected. So his night hobby was revived.

But considering how things were currently going, the meeting would run long enough to cut into that, too, for sure.

This sucked. He’d, like, just started actually cracking down on whatever language the handwritten ones were in. He’d managed to decipher letters, words, and maybe even syntax if he wants to flex a little. All those scholars in Enbarr want what he has, and he’s not afraid to say it.

Beyond that, though, the context of what they held was what was actually intriguing. A lot of what he’d been reading about before seemed to be scholarly accounts, perhaps second-hand information on a more generous read, but these handwritten books seemed to be journals. If his hunch was right, they might have even been fabled  _ primary sources _ from the founding of the Church, which would be big if true. He knew any researcher worth their salt would kill for information regarding it, considering the Church itself was rather punitive on any inquiries beyond doctrine, which could be considered fantastical on a  _ good  _ day. He’d stumbled upon a trove and couldn’t believe his fortune.

All the more worrying, though, was what they seemed to contain beyond that. He’d read the accounts of a genocide told through the teary words of the survivors, and that alone was harrowing. They spared no details, laying every atrocity they faced on the page like a confessional if not to process what had happened for themselves. He’d had to put them down some nights to come to terms with it himself.

To see the horrors of war and find yourself on the losing side was not an idea he felt he could entertain and remain healthy.

Maybe that was what made these meetings so dry to him. Not the tediousness of it all, but the potential realities that could come out of it.

Ugh, this was actually the worst.

Judith stood from her seat, her serious mask imperturbable as she explained her plan to defend from von Aegir’s forces. Ferdinand, it seemed, was proving a mobile, harrying thorn in their side or something , and if they didn’t counter his combat style, he’d hack away at their line inch by inch.

He wondered if the Eagles knew about any of the truth of all this, if Edelgard did. What Edelgard thought when a goddess’s wrath appeared before her, scaled and furious.

“What do you think, boy?” asked Judith, eyes locking onto him and rousing him from his thoughts.

“Think you’re the grizzled battle commander and I’m just some ‘boy,’ boss,” he said sarcastically to hide the fact he had lost track of the conversation hopefully . “You know what you’re doing on the ground. My network hasn’t picked up any interesting intel or movements, so assuming it’s just Aegir making a play, we can push it back with some effort, right?”

Judith nodded, face stony. “Be that as it may, we can’t just keep pushing the attacks back. I’ve got soldiers who’ve been on the front for years, and, whether they’ll admit it or not, they’re tired. We need something to happen.”

Yikes. Morale was low everywhere, huh.

“We’re working on that,” Claude said, and it was true. With the professors alive and well, they could see about destabilizing and preparing more complex maneuvers. Nardel and Judith were sterling commanders, but doubling their number of loyal, skilled commanders overnight would  do something good for them for sure , and they wouldn’t have to just hope Jeralt was in the area to help.

He’d even sent a message Yuri’s way, just to see. He didn’t doubt his best spy would have some things they could take advantage of.

“I’ll  give it to you straight, Judith . You’ve done great work at the front, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. You’ve got my seal of approval,  I’m sure you’ll  make the most of anything that comes up. We’ve got an ace or two up our sleeves , I’ve just got to get the pieces together. If this goes as planned, we might be able to push much further than before,” he said, trying to remain vague while also giving them what they needed to function properly.

Judith nodded. “If you say so.  I suppose that means no shore leave for me . Just don’t take too long, alright?” she said, something that might have been good-natured teasing creeping into her voice, but he couldn’t be too sure . He turned to Nardel, quirking an eyebrow.   
  
“Yeah, sure. You know how Nardel is, always keeps me on my toes.”   
  
The grizzled man nodded, face crinkling around his scar as he let a proper grin settle onto his face. “Don’t worry, Judith. Claude will come through,” he said firmly, in that tone of voice that reinvigorated all who heard it for the force of his belief. He nodded in silent thanks for his retainer.

“So, anything else we need to talk about?” asked Claude, admittedly antsy to get back to his actual work.

“That sums it up,” Judith said in clipped, businesslike tones, referring to their docket. “I’ll be back to the field two days hence if you need me for anything else.”   
  
Without much further ado, the council parted ways. Thank… whatever gods were listening for that. He’d spent six hours going over battle plans, supply lines, and everything else that needed to be accounted for in a years-long military defense, and all he wanted was to see if he’d gotten news from Yuri and how the twins were. 

A quick beeline to his office confirmed that he had, in fact, received a letter, but not from who he’d been expecting. Weird. He took the letter, closed the door behind him and locked it before taking a seat and tearing it open with an arrow that he’d left sitting around at some point in lieu of an actual letter-opener. Leaders needed to be able to improvise or something, after all.

It was from  Jeralt, given it was  stamped with the seal of the Knight-Captain of Garreg Mach and the Knights of Seiros. He didn’t send missives often, but when he did, they were usually relevant in his experience.

He gave it a quick run-through , face carefully blank even though he was alone  in the empty room. He respected Jeralt’s no-nonsense messages, but he’d kill for a bit more detail on some of these points for how vague they were. Like, he was good at piecing together points, but not everything had to be a whole job or whatever.

He had to come to a full stop, though, once he realized what the Knight-Captain was actually saying.  There had been activity near Garreg Mach, Adrestian scouts spotted entering the monastery but never leaving. Then more scouts, also never seen again. Something was going on, and Claude could only curse. All the more reason for Yuri to hurry up and  _ send him a damned letter _ . It  _ had  _ to be  Yuri’s doing, but he never killed the Adrestians since he’d staked Garreg Mach’s existence on the fact that it and Abyss were both neutral, what with the Archbishop gone and the Knights scattered to the winds under Jeralt’s care.

It didn’t make sense. Why would he be bringing attention to them now?

This was great. Just great.  _ Super _ . Something was going on at Garreg Mach, and he’d bet money that Yuri was going to press-gang him into looking into this for sure . Edelgard didn’t take kindly to dead messengers, let alone  scouts. She’d always kept a policy of having  hostage trades, and if  they  were refused, she made sure it was a costly choice to make.

The effort she put into recapturing prisoners of war was not a small thing, and it’d paid dividends. When they did end up capturing Adrestian forces, their loyalty towards the Red Emperor was frustratingly  without question. Over interrogations, they’d found she was kind indeed to those loyal to her.

From what he could tell, she outstripped the benefits of their own military personnel pretty handily, and it showed in the reports on troop morale he’d been getting, especially the last few years.

He had to wonder, though, how exactly she was expecting to pay for all of this considering the war itself wasn’t exactly cheap. He’d made sure of that himself. He couldn’t see Enbarr, but he knew that whenever a war was prolonged, people got tired. The Alliance had only held out this long because they fought dirty, making invading forces have to justify the cost of the fight. And it didn’t matter how much you offered to a widow because it wouldn’t bring her husband back.

Claude took the letter and wrote the world’s hastiest reply. He’d only  _ just  _ remembered  Jeralt was the professors’ father when he saw the seal , and he needed to know his children were alive , you know, probably. He could write that much down at least.  Then he put the unfinished letter in his secure drawer and locked it once it was safe inside. He needed to think about what their next move would be. It’d all depend on the professors, after all.

He gave his back a good stretch, popping every vertebra  and coaxing out a pleased groan as he stood up to see where they were. He should probably  keep them in the loop, both about Garreg Mach and their father. Maybe they’d have some ideas about what to do about von Aegir trying to push into Gloucester. He’d bet money Lorenz was champing at the bit to go at them, even if he’d prefer if his friend didn’t throw his life away for duke and country or whatever.

Besides, they needed that agriculture. Gloucester had huge, fertile plains, and, as such, most of their supply line. If they lost it, the war would quickly devolve, and what remained of the Lions would be left fighting a war on two fronts while he absconded back across the border.  He knew Lorenz could hold them back, but they’d never pushed for Gloucester before. Edelgard had been bizarrely sedentary for being an invading force for some reason,  at least on their borders, but it seemed the tide was turning. ‘Til now they seemed to be focusing primarily on Faerghus, only offering token attempts to push against them.

Well, minus  the actual demonic beasts.

They were some kind of ace in Edelgard’s pocket for how wildly unpredictable they seemed to be for all his Alliance forces.  They were never part of her troop movements, never visible or acknowledged, but with unerring precision, they would tunnel, tearing down fortifications and raising hell in sporadic attacks that left even the safest forts feeling vulnerable. 

It was only thanks to Jeralt and the Knights that they weren’t bleeding out on the ground, proverbially  _ and  _ literally. They were trained beast breakers and had proven kind enough to teach some Leicester troops how to do it, which was super appreciated and then  quickly disseminated among the troops. Beasts were never pleasant to deal with, but Jeralt’s wandering band proved a valuable ally, often allowing himself to be used if the need arose. For a price.

Luckily, Leicester’s coffers were vast indeed , even if a tiny bit strained during wartime.  Leicester’s trade routes to Almyra had been hindered on one hand, forcing them to ford the northern coast, which was a super  dangerous proposition,  but at least they were still active , and the Alliance could still manage  good business. Perhaps if it came to it, they could hire an Almyran legion or two. It’d probably put them into debt to Almyra, but that would put the fear in Edelgard. It sure would if it were him, but he knew more about Almyra than most.

Now he was just thinking about how nice it’d be to rob Adrestia to pay Almyra. It would serve them right , and he’d for sure earned the right to be at least a  _ little  _ petty, he thought.

Finally he stepped out of his office, locking the door behind him. Quitting time meant it was time to play a game of hide and seek with the professors whether they were aware or not , so he let his mind wander.

It had been three days since they’d woken up, but Claude barely had any time to even consider going to see them outside of business.  It wasn’t every day Judith was back from the front, and they needed all hands on deck to  solidify the next season’s plans if they wanted the budget to pass his lord-grandfather’s  approval.

But now that he finally found a spare moment, his nerves might as well have shot his stomach point-black . He hadn’t seen them , like,  _ really  _ seen them or  spoken to them in… years , which was probably more like  days to them , if they’d even felt time pass at all.  He still couldn’t believe it.

But then again, he’d seen  them carve a hole in reality and get a dye-job for their hair, so he should really be more prepared for absurdity when he dealt with them, but all the same it was whatever.

When he finally found them, it was, predictably, in the abandoned training yard meant for the nobility, and there weren’t many who’d want to practice here in Derdriu. They’d both been given whatever old gear had still been salvageable, replacements, and, of course, the Sword fragments that had been found with them, thankfully.

They fought like it was a dance. It was beautiful, if he was being honest, less a fight and more some kind of two-person kata, each blow swung and blocked and dodged as if it were some esoteric ritual that reminded him of some of the traditional dance in Almyra’s northern reaches.  Neither of them landed a blow on the other, yet sweat ran over their bodies, and their eyes gleamed with intent: two gifted warriors who had fought each other their whole lives testing each  other’s mettle.

And metal, he guessed, what with the practice swords and all. He’d laugh about that one later, maybe, when he was up to it.

For now,  he had to look away before his heart took control of his mouth and made him say  stupid  things he shouldn’t to them.

They looked at each other with… he didn’t even know how to describe it. Love, respect, fondness… but of course they did. They were family and had fought through hell to come back from the dead. Their link was unbreakable.

He just… wished they’d look at  _ him _ like that.

He grit his teeth.

Goddess, he was such a lovesick idiot.

He turned and headed back inside before they could spot him. He couldn’t do it. He thought that he’d be able to just talk to them like nothing had changed, but seeing them awake, alive, unchanged, it…

He thought he’d be ready by now, to face them, but he wasn’t — hell,  _ they  _ weren’t ready.  There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many complications they all needed to sort. The war, their ancestry, their  _ lovers… _ gods, damn him, he thought he’d buried those feelings, but they’d bloomed once more instantly to see them like that, as hale and hearty as a dandelion.

He couldn’t use their pain and loss that way. He had to — maybe they’d never feel what he felt for them. They’d made their choices. But damn it, he was Claude von Riegan, Khalid of Almyra, he had pride. If they came to him it was because they  _ wanted _ him, not because he manipulated them while they were vulnerable. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to try, though.

But the both of them had just woken up to a world that was almost completely new to them, and on top of that, they’d both lost people. And in more… permanent ways, at that, both past and future tense. They needed time to heal and steel themselves, and here he was interfering with the process. He’d shoot his shot later.

Whenever  _ that  _ would be.

For now, he’d turn in for the night, maybe get to work on more translating if he felt up to it, and then in the morning they’d all ride out to Gloucester territory to see what they could do about the Aegir problem.

So it turned out the Aegir problem was much worse than Claude could have dreamed of, assuming those dreams were nightmares haunted by Lorenz Hellman Gloucester and his stupid fucking bowl cut, even if he had grown it out to the point of actual envy.  _ Hellman _ , indeed. He’d chop off his beautiful locks with the bluntest pair of scissors he could find and then mount the braid up over a fireplace mantle or something equally as dramatic.

He deserved that godawful bowl cut and worse for turning traitor like he had. Good thing Claude had thought to bring an army.

An army that now included two green-haired ghosts as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and he counted it in his good fortunes that they’d seemed to have woken up on the good side of the bed, assuming they still needed to sleep. He didn’t know. He’d like to think that if he woke up after five years that he might be afraid of going back to sleep and missing more. Not that it was his damage or anything. He shouldn’t presume.

The only thing he could presume was that Lorenz had a perfectly  _ noble  _ explanation for why he’d decided actual treason was a smart idea. Dumbass. Goddess, he wanted to rip his hair out just thinking about it.

Maybe he’d turn Lorenz’s hair into a wig. Seemed an appropriate punishment to make someone that vain sport a shiner.

“I’m going to scalp him,” Claude said, which was likely the first thing that had come out of his mouth in a long enough time to draw eyes.

“Please don’t,” Hilda said next to him, all suited up in armor she would have flat-out refused five years ago. “It’s like the only thing Lorenz has going for him.”

“Yeah, and Gloucester territory was the only thing we had going for us,” Claude bit back with all the bitterness he thought he deserved to have.

He stopped himself before he said anything else, though, and put a hand to his forehead to mitigate the migraine he could feel forming there, which would be the icing on the damn cake if it actually came.

When he lowered his hand and looked back out at his commanders. Hilda, Lysithea, and Raphael all stood at the ready alongside the professors and what remained of the Church hierarchy, everyone in their battlefield finest, all shiny and whatnot.  _ That  _ was about to get ruined one way or another, and it would be for the worse if he didn’t lead them all carefully.

He met each of their eyes and nodded. Alright. He could do this.

“The Alliance won’t last the winter without the farmlands here, so we need to make sure we push Aegir and the rest of the Adrestian Army back,” Claude said over the surface they had put their battlemap on top of. “This is something the Empire knows, which is why they’ve been pushing for this part of the border all this time. They take us out here at our weakest point, and not only does Leicester fall, but so does what’s left of Faerghus.”

“What are you suggesting we do here then?” Lysithea asked from where she stood next to Flayn.

“Simple. We divide…” Claude said and drew a line between the Aegir and Gloucester troop lines on the map. “...and conqueror.”

“That’s incredibly risky. We could be overwhelmed from both sides,” Byleth said, breaking the vow of silence Claude had sworn he’d taken three days ago.

“That’s true,” Claude replied, nodding sagely. “Or it would be if we didn’t have a secret weapon. Maybe even two of them.”

“You mean us,” Blythe said in a voice that sounded… a bit dead, if Claude was being honest. That was worrying, but they could address that later or something, provided they all made it out of this as well as theory would have it.

“Glad to see you’re picking up what I’m putting down,” Claude replied with a grin and a wink that made Hilda roll her eyes. “But yeah, anyway, I’ve seen the two of you fight, and I feel that if you can make a beeline for future bowl cut and take him out of the fight, then the rest of the Gloucester troops will have to turn down their arms and we can take Ferdinand on directly.”

Then he clapped his hands together. “Alright, I think that should do it. Any questions?”

Raphael raised his hand.

“Yeah, big man?”

“What do the rest of us do?”

Claude looked at the rest of them before looking back at Raphael. “I definitely want you holding the front line and pushing if you can.”

“That’s all?” Raphael asked, scratching his head despite his hand definitely having a clawed gauntlet on it. “You made it sound like it was going to be so much harder.”

“Nothing but simple stuff here, my guy,” Claude replied, clapping him across the back. “No one ever expects it.”

“I’m going to assume you actually wanted me providing ranged support,” Lysithea said, piping up with all the petulance that Claude should have expected of her even if he wished she’d’ve maybe matured beyond it.

“Yeah, don’t move anywhere you’d take a lance, please,” Claude amended, even if it should have gone without question.

“I will ensure she does not,” Flayn said with a soft smile despite her seriousness.

“And I will ensure  _ you  _ do not,” Seteth said, making up for it in stride.

“Great!” Claude said with finality. “Everyone gear up and get ready for battle, then, and we’ll meet back up here after it’s all said and done.”

Five years ago, Claude had seen an honest-to-goddess dragon fly over Garreg Mach and been struck dumb by how large and majestic it was, and despite being in the midst of battle, he’d allowed himself to be distracted just long enough to remember dreams he’d had as a kid of flying. While flying on the back of a dragon had been an impossibility in his mind until then, he still imagined his chances were still pretty slim.

Luckily for him, though, it had been a common enough dream in Almyra to warrant the breeding of wyverns you wouldn’t find anywhere else in the world. Some king early on in the royal line had been inspired by the beasts he had seen flying over his neighborhood and had made it his life’s mission to ride one. He didn’t succeed , but his subjects kept the dream alive at least, ending up making Almyra the heartland of wyvern riding,  the crowning achievement therein being that they’d managed to breed white wyverns reserved for the royal family exclusively.

No one in Fódlan seemed to know about that particular story, because  _ Nardel  _ had been able to have the Almyran crown prince’s very own white wyvern brought right there to Leicester.

And she was beautiful. She really was.

Claude looked her over where she stood, bridled and ready for war just likes he was. She was the only wyvern, although there were going to be a few pegasus knights on both sides. Thankfully, being nobility had its perks, and she had her own personal handler for when he wasn’t caring for her himself.

But now, he was here with her.

“Hey, girl,” he said softly, walking towards her without fear and letting her see him and smell him. He hugged her slender neck, and she gave a pleased huff that warmed his neck. “We have a big day today. Let’s do our best, okay Somayeh?” he said gently, before pulling back to reach for one of the meat cuts kept  _ just  _ for her,  spoiled princess that she was . He gave it a lazy toss, and she snatched it out of the air with her jaws effortlessly.

She was still one of the most beautiful things in the world to him. That he hadn’t had her at Garreg Mach was one of his greatest regrets, but it was a necessity. Too many eyes, too many people who might know her story. But she was here now, and they were a team. He’d cemented himself way too thoroughly for anything but the worst-case to be an issue.

He climbed onto her back , gave her a good pat,  and they were off. Hilda had her orders, as did the rest of them, and he’d make sure it all played out like it would be from the air. And, y’know, maybe get a good pot-shot or two in where he could.

And so the ants clashed , the sounds of combat reaching him even up as high as he was. Somayeh sailed in slow, lazy circles, comfortably cruising above the treeline. They were high enough not to be harried unduly but near enough he saw everything, and what he  _ did  _ see he could shoot.

His archer’s eye saw everything. Both Byleth and Blythe’s contingents were tearing through the line they’d scoped out earlier which delineated the turncoats and Adrestian troops, fighting to separate them from one another.

It was honestly awe-inspiring. After years of fighting, seeing the Professors on the field with their relic weapons unleashed was incredible. They’d called them demons back when they’d been mercs, but if that were so he had no idea what to call them now. Vengeful gods? They gave and took life like it was their job, like — there  would be the flash and stretch of a sword, and then someone’s life was saved by taking another. They were fighting separately in tandem at the same time,  somehow matching each other’s pace as they pushed the enemy line back in what looked like a slaughter.

The backline was fighting hard, too, though. Lysithea cast masterfully, as did the army’s other mages and archers as they attempted to control the flow and direction of battle.

What impressed him was Flayn’s hard work, too. She cast healing spells like she’d been doing it for years, which… he hadn’t expected from her, but then, if there was one thing he’d learned in all his research and time spent with Seteth and Flayn while they cared for the professors , it was that green hair meant secrets.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t holding his own, though. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he’d take a shot,  punishing any pegasus knights who were bold enough to assume  they were safe in the air. They’d think twice about making that mistake again, you know, if they survived.

But that wasn’t the whole reason he was up here, then, now was he? He looked back down over the battlefield again, and  the only issue he could spot was a head of green hair, far away from their line. Blythe was in deep, and on her own. Despite that, though, it didn’t seem to be slowing her down , like, at all.  She was a whirlwind, blade singing as she tore through turncoats and made a bee-line for Lorenz.

What was she doing? The line was holding, but this was far too dangerous, so no one could support her even if she didn’t seem like she needed it for how the soldiers were actually starting to give her space given how she murdered anyone who got within sword’s-length of her.

And her sword could get pretty damn long.

Holy shit, she was gonna kill him, which was  _ not  _ the plan.

Flying down low enough to get a message to her was a fool’s errand that would get him and Somayeh both killed, so he decided on another course of action, spurring her back towards Byleth, hiding behind their forward line more safely as he swooped low.   
  
“Teach, your sister! She’s going straight for Lorenz alone.  Back her up and stop her from doing anything stupid!” he barked, too focused to think on how strange it was to give one of his professors orders before taking off again.

Fucking hell. This whole battle was about to go tits-up if she didn’t wake up from whatever frenzied pipe dream she was in. He could gripe all day about how he should have seen it coming, but not even her own damn brother had noticed. Whatever. He just had to hope they could salvage this and stop whatever else could go wrong. For now, he flew back  to survey their rear. Still intact, still functioning as it needed to, bombarding the thinning lines of the turncoats as the line holding back the Adrestians monopolized the healers to keep them alive through Adrestia’s own long-range attacks.   
  
Thankfully, Raphael, he knew, was too stupid and too sweet to die. He knew with him up front, they could hold until Lorenz was handled, and then, he prayed, maybe they could break the stalemate and gain some valuable breathing room to push these bastards out of Gloucester. 

For a heart-stopping moment, he spotted a chink in their line, two men dying to one swing, men flooding through the gap near where Lysithea was, the mire already too thick for him to risk taking a shot from this angle. He urged Somayeh on, desperate to get into position, but what unfolded was a sight to see.   
  
He didn’t even know when Flayn picked up the lance, but with impressive skill she pushed back the mob that was moving to get to their only dark caster. She dragged her forcefully, pipsqueak dragging pipsqueak as Lysithea mastered herself and cast a spell. Flayn covered her right, and Seteth appeared to their left to cover their retreat, spear unforgiving in its speed and power as he almost single-handedly held back the five men who’d broken through until Lysithea could put them down and the line reform.

Well, he couldn’t have imagined everything would go easily. Gods, if they’d lost Lysithea, nevermind Flayn and Seteth… it didn’t bear thinking about. Issue resolved, he turned Somayeh back, searching for flashes of green further afield.

It was like the training yard all over again. With Byleth’s help, Blythe’s pace nearly doubled, and in the moments it took to watch the drama unfold with Lyssie and the time it took to fly back, they were practically on Lorenz, and they’d made themselves the juiciest, most dangerous target of all.

He… kind of hoped Byleth would pull Blythe back and let them push normally without them being set adrift in a sea of red armor, but he couldn’t argue with results , he guessed.  They really didn’t seem to be in danger. Their  _ nap _ didn’t even seem to have  fazed them at all, either.  He wondered what the invasion would have looked like if they hadn’t fallen and just fought the army if this was the true power that they and the Sword of the Creator possessed. A dragon and two ashen demons versus the concentrated might of the Adrestian army…

He didn’t know who he’d have placed his bet on.

The soldiers simply gave up at this point , which was pretty smart of them, really. Survival instinct was always good to see.  Blythe was bad enough, but with Byleth there, the turncoats just started throwing their weapons to the ground if they so much as looked at them.

Byleth breezed forward as Blythe hunted the stragglers who didn’t surrender, Byleth soon dragging a purple-haired man by the scruff like he was a child.

  
He landed in a clear spot, of which there were many with how the survivors were scattering.   
  
“Afternoon, Lorenz! Nice day for it, am I right?” he called loudly over the still-echoing sounds of battle from the Adrestian line. He wasn’t above gloating, especially not with how there was a pool of anger and vitriol sitting over where his heart should be. “Rethinking some decisions yet?  Because I’ve been considering a haircut.”   
  
Lorenz said nothing, simply staring down at the ground with a look of consternation on his face. Blythe came up beside him with a look on her face that could have melted steel.   
  
“Say the word, Claude. Say the word and that filthy traitor is  _ dead, _ ” she  _ hissed _ , her eyes looking like a brooding wyvern’s, which was something he’d ask about later maybe.   
  
“Hey, whoa, no need for that yet, okay? Look, he’s done for, his men have scattered, your brother’s got him by the damned scruff, he’s ours. He’s a prisoner of war, and there are rules about that kind of thing, you know,” he said, hopefully soothingly. “We’re gonna drag him back to the supply line, keep him there, and we’ll deal with him after we handle the rest of these jerks, alright?”

Blythe grit her teeth, inhuman glare turning to him with a manic glint that legitimately alarmed him. “He  _ betrayed _ you!” she yelled, gesturing to Lorenz in the most emotional display he’d seen from her since she woke up. “He  _ swore  _ himself to you and your cause and then he  _ betrayed _ you! You were classmates! You were friends! You had tea! You  _ cared _ for each other!”

“Hey, Blythe…” he called, voice low as he jumped off of Somayeh and reached a placating hand out, which put him between her and the wyvern. He could sense how spooked the both of them were getting from the raised voices and general heat of the moment, let alone the battle that was raging beyond. “It’s okay, we’ll deal with him, alright? He’s not getting away with it or anything. I promise.”  
  
“He’ll _hurt_ us if we show mercy! He’ll join _her_ , and then they’ll just keep _hurting us._ If we don’t kill him now, we’ll just have to kill him later,” she said, her voice shaking with hurt that she’d already felt.

And then the pieces clicked into place.

“This won’t be like that, I swear. You know me, right?” he asked as he stepped closer in a way he hoped wasn’t coming across as threatening or accusatory. “ You trust me and your brother, and Byleth won’t let him get away, will he?”

She turned to look at him, then back at Claude, eyes wide and inhuman, her nostrils flaring before she made a strangled noise somewhere between rage, fear and despair. “I want him  _ dead _ .”

He watched her walk away, too shocked to call out. He turned to Byleth, nervous and uncomfortable with what in every hell had just happened. “Is she gonna be...?” he began, Byleth nodding preemptively.   
  
“She needs to get it out of her system,” he said simply, beginning to walk back to the supply line. “Go. I’ll take care of him.”

Claude let go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he watched his retreating back.

Well, that was unexpected. He reached out mindlessly, stroking Somayeh’s neck. “And here I thought  _ you _ were the one with the temper,” he said, the joke falling flat even to him.

Okay, that was enough. His brain was still a mess, but there were red shirts to kill. He should get going before Blythe killed them  _ all _ . So he hitched himself back onto his best girl’s back, and with a firm pat, she was back up in the air.

The rest was just more of the same, really. Without a target, he just watched Blythe clearing soldiers left and right, his actual troops mostly just preoccupied with holding the line while the back line supported Blythe as she played one woman army. He had to talk to her about this, no question. It was brutally effective, but it only took one mistake, and she definitely wasn’t thinking straight. He couldn’t risk losing her.

Twice was more than what he could handle.

He worried, though. Ferdinand was a former Eagle, so he had no damned idea how she’d react to him. Would she go ballistic on him like with Lorenz?  Or worse, which was something he  _ really  _ didn’t want to think about.

He had to find a way to cut this off at the pass before he let Blythe near Aegir. Whatever she was feeling with Lorenz, it wasn’t the same thing, but she was for sure  volatile enough he couldn’t trust her reactions.

How could he stop her from just killing all of them? They’d just watched her tear through the Gloucester troops like it was nothing. Maybe he could use that.

Somayeh gently brought him down to earth near the supply line, and he gave his orders. This wasn’t a guarantee, but he knew Ferdinand. He was nothing if not the height of aristocracy — ugh, he better not hear that come out of Lorenz’s mouth at the table—  behind all the bluster he had at the academy that he’d surely grown out of after watching men fight and die for him.

  
He sure knew it helped sober  _ him  _ up.

When the flag flew, he was very pleased to see the fighting come to a stop in good order. The crier stepped forward, breaking through to the front of the ranks.   
  
“Parley! Parley! Call to parley!” they shouted, lungs like bellows for how unbelievably  _ loud  _ they were.    
  
His handler was good. There's a reason he kept them around, as they appeared to take Soma’s reins and trot her someplace safe, maybe give her a treat or two. His princess had earned it for sure.

Hilda ran up to him, Freikugel in hand. “Good call , Claude. The professors are literal demons, like, honestly. Ferdinand would be an actual idiot not to take up that offer,”  she chattered as the two walked forward to the designated area around the flag which had been freed of soldiers for their meeting.

He was pleased to see Ferdinand knew his place this time around. He was already there, destrier at his side. Traitorously, he remembered how much he loved horses back at the monastery. He’d named his first one Herald because he wanted to be on the front lines for the Eagles, but everyone thought he’d just called the damned thing  _ Harold _ , and that’d been a good laugh.

But now  Ferdinand stood there l ooking at him with a straight back and serious eyes.

He was all set to get into it, the two of them standing across from each other with their seconds behind them when Blythe shoved herself bodily into the circle.   
  
“Ferdie!” she screamed as she ran towards him with abandon, Ferdinand’s eyes widening in disbelief as he got a hundred-some pounds of woman thrown at him, managing to catch her fairly easily. Her hands were all over him, kissing his cheeks, his neck, his forehead...

“Professor..?” he managed, the disbelief obvious in his voice as he carefully pushed her back, staring at her with confusion. “But… you fell!”

“She’s just fine, if you couldn’t tell. And on our side, too,” he called, just a touch caustic to remind him where he was even as she dove back in, caressing Ferdinand’s admittedly-amazing hair and running her hands through it.    
  
“Oh, Ferdie, I missed you, I thought I’d never see you again…” she mumbled disjointedly before she seemed to come back to herself. “Claude!” she yelled, turning to him, holding Ferdinand tightly like a damn octopus. “You can’t hurt him. You  _ can’t _ .”   
  
“Well, that  _ is  _ why I called for a parley, now, isn’t it?” Claude said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Look, I get it, he’s your student, but he’s still the enemy commander, and we’re trying to minimize loss of life here. He’s gotta give me his pitch.”

“I suppose that is what one does at a parley,” he stated with an impressive mix of consternation and respect. “I’m no fool, Lord Riegan. Your aces have us cornered. State your terms.”

“Thrown down your weapons,” Claude stated bluntly. “That’s point one. We’ve already captured Lord Gloucester, so this battle’s over. No need to water the fields with any more blood.”

  
Ferdinand nodded, face serious. “Naturally. I’d be a fool to think that’s all you had in mind, though. Am I to be your prisoner?”   
  
“That’s how it is with Edelgard, yeah?”  Claude countered rhetorically. “You’ll be our hostage, and we’ll negotiate your return to your homeland. Your soldiers can go free, minus captains, bowmen and mages as long as they swear to head straight back home. And I  _ guess  _ we’ll make sure you’re treated well, under penalty of the professor’s eternal damnation.”

Ferdinand frowned, but nodded. “I suppose it’s what was to be expected. Thank you for not turning this into some asinine haggling match. Some of your commanders wished to challenge my character, and it wasn’t appreciated.”

Claude snorted in amusement. “Sorry about that. Now go round everyone up and hand over their weapons.”   
  
Ferdinand nodded. “Of course. On my House’s honor, Lord Riegan.”   
  
“Eugh, please dude, we went to school together. Lord Riegan is my grandfather,” he said, feigning his disgust. Mostly.   
  
“Ah, yes. My mistake, confusing you for  _ Grand Duke _ Riegan. But no.  Thank you for your kindness, Claude, but I think we both know we’re beyond that,” Ferdinand said, a bitter smile on his lips.

Oh… ouch. The worst part was the man had a point. He hadn’t met any other Garreg Mach students face to face ‘til now, but Ferdinand probably spoke for a lot of the Eagles. “... Yeah. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Think I can trust you to watch him, Teach?”   
  
“I will watch over and protect him,” she said, eyes sharp.

Okay, not the  _ best _ wording… “Byleth?” he called, the man of the moment stepping forward out of the crowd.

“Yes?”

“Keep an eye on them?” he asked as sweetly as he could manage.   
  
Byleth nodded. “I will,” was all he said before stepping to stand next to Blythe.   
  
“Great.  I’ll leave you to it, then,”  he said with a dismissiveness he didn’t truly feel. Then he turned on his heel and left , followed by a familiar pink-haired shadow.

When they were suitably far away, Hilda piped up. “So… that was fun.”   
  
“You know, I can’t say I noticed,” he replied with a shrug. “Gotta love sending out a variable that can’t even be accounted for by her own brother.”   
  
“It’s fine, Claude. Can’t deny they won us the fight, so it evens out,” she said with a shrug of her own to match.  “It’s not like you were gonna ask Ferdie for his entire territory or something.”

“I know you’ve asked him for more,” Claude said, earning him a kick to the shin as they made it to the front of the crowd.

Altogether, it was quite civil. He didn’t much mind it. After a half hour or so, there was a fat pile of swords in a wagon, Ferdinand had handed him his ceremonial saber, and then he allowed himself to be cuffed.   
  
Once he’d finished up with the pomp, deputized one of his captains to lead the prisoners back, and given a speech congratulating them all, they pulled back from the killing field and set up camp.

…Or, that’s what he would’ve liked to have happened, but then Blythe, Byleth, and Ferdinand all showed up in front of him.   
  
“You can’t send him back,” Blythe said without preamble , making him blink in surprise.   
  
“Oh? Why not?” he asked as he crossed his arms and cocked his head.   
  
“Because …” she started, eyes darting to and fro as if trying to find a logical answer.  “Because he’s mine. I need him, and I need to talk to him more.”   
  
Claude shifted his weight onto one foot and rested a hand on his hip in the same way most adults did when a child said something wild they expected to be taken at face value.  Blythe was still… unstable. He needed to respect that. If she wanted to, what, talk to Ferdinand, drag him to Derdriu by the hand, was it that big a deal?   
  
“So what do you suggest then? Mind you,  he  _ is  _ a prisoner of war, so I hope you don’t want me to let him go or anything like that,”  he said, praying that wasn’t what she was going to ask him.

She shook her head. “Let me be his guard. I’ll keep him safe and stop him from running away. I just… I just want to talk to him.”   
  
Claude gave a  _ hmm  _ and tapped his chin  as he turned to look at Ferdinand. “And do you have any objections to this plan, Lord Aegir?”   
  
Ferdinand shook his head. “I have no objections. If I can… assist the Professor in some way, I believe it would be for the best.”   
  
“...Alright. You can have him. But—” Claude looked at Blythe seriously in the same way that his mother had when he’d asked to keep a wild horned lizard as a pet when he was eight. “—you’re responsible for him and everything he does. So if he were to, say, go missing in the night, then that’s on you.”

“He won’t,” Blythe said with more conviction in her voice than an executioner at the block, which was a comparison Claude wished his mind hadn’t made.

But he had other things to do in the aftermath of the battle. After removing his armor and washing the sweat and grime off his face in his own tent, he made his way over to where the generals’ tent had been put up and steeled himself for what he knew was going to come.

With Failnaught hanging from his back, he parted the tent’s flap and found Byleth seated on the awkward little fold-out chair they used for traveling, with Lorenz tied up and seated on the floor.

“Not enough chairs, huh?”  Claude sighed, finding no humor there as he fell gracelessly into the last chair that had been reserved for him. “Why’d you do it, man? I don’t  _ wanna  _ chop your head off, but you better believe it’s in the cards.”

Lorenz continued to stare at the floor. “It wasn’t an easy decision,  Claude. Gloucester lands have been under attack since the war started five years ago. We didn’t have anything left. The troops were exhausted, and so was I. I petitioned Lord Riegan for aid, to send someone, anyone to help us, but they had an army. Aegir’s troops were what was left of a massive force we barely pushed back,” he said and — damn him — Claude could see the shame in Lorenz’s eyes. This was killing him to admit.   
  
“If I didn’t concede, they would have wiped us out. I had to make a choice, Claude,” he said, finally lifting his head to look him in the eye. “I couldn’t let my people die. It was my duty as a noble.” There was a pause. “Not that they didn’t die anyway…” he murmured bitterly, at least having the good grace not to glare at either of the professors.   
  


“Not all of them,” Byleth said, drawing all of their eyes despite how softly he’d spoken. “I did my best to leave who I could alive. They have wounds that will scar even and prevent them from fighting, but as long as a healer sees them, they will live.” 

Claude could have sworn he saw something like pain flash across his face for a split second before he added, “I didn’t want to see anyone else lost.”

“I’m in no position to ask for such a mercy, but I thank you all the same,” Lorenz said, offering a small but polite smile. “Especially since I feel it likely comes from a personal experience. I would like to offer you my condolences. I can only imagine how great your grief must have been to have kept you away for so long. I lament for the circumstances that have brought us together again, and, though I do not deserve it, I hope that you can find it in you to forgive me.”

“Now what’re we gonna do about that?” Claude asked only partially rhetorically as the frown on his face tightened.  He had to admit, he’d hoped pretty naively  that he’d never be put into a position like this , but here they were after a battle faced with the decision of what to do with a traitor. A well-meaning traitor with solid reasons, but still a traitor. The Alliance had failed him, and he did what he had to not end up dead. But he couldn’t just  let him off scot free, either. 

“Do what you must,” was Lorenz’s unhelpful advice.

Claude sighed in frustration and leaned back as he tapped his fingers against the arms of the chair. If only all of this could have been prevented in the first place. Hm.

“Well, Lorenz, your troops are decimated, so now you’re gonna have Riegan troops breathing down your neck and defending the borders. A lot of ‘em. Don’t know why you didn’t get ‘em in the first place,  but the issue’s moot. We can’t let Gloucester fall. So, as acting commander, you’ve now got those punks outside, and Hilda’s gonna make sure you behave, for starters,” he said, putting his hands behind his head in a thoughtful gesture.

“Gonna have to tax you, too, probably for a hell of a lot. I’m not a beancounter, but you’re not gonna be able to buy anything nice for a while, I’ll tell you that much,” he said, thinking aloud. “You’re gonna serve under Hilda, and you’re gonna keep defending your lands whether you like it or not.”   
  
He stopped and nodded, pretty satisfied with himself and his decision.  “Oh, and you’re sleeping with the prisoners until we can sort it all out. Just be thankful I’m not shaving your head like I was planning on.”   
  
Claude was inordinately pleased by the horrified little gasp he got out of  Lorenz despite himself. He let out a small chuckle. “Think that’s it for now. Don’t worry, you’ll at least have your own cell next to Ferdinand, so you can talk about how great your hair is, or how much you like manners or whatever.”

Lorenz nodded, head almost touching the ground when he was finished. “Thank you for your clemency.” 

Then a guard came to fetch the prisoner,  and with a bit of gentle jostling, Lorenz was gone and all that was left was him and Byleth, still seated in his dinky little chair.

“So what do you think, Teach?” he asked, busying himself as he reached into his portable desk and pulled out a bottle of something brown and vile that Yuri had turned him on to along with a pair of wooden cups.

“About what?” Byleth asked cautiously.

Claude sighed, pouring himself a measure. “You seem tense, Teach. Want a drink?” he asked, already taking a sip of his own , the burn crawling down his throat to sit warm in his stomach.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding. “Sure,” he said placidly, hand outstretched. Claude poured him a measure and then sat back down next to him.   
  
“Cheers. To victory and a fight well fought,” Claude pronounced, holding up his drink. Byleth tapped his own against it softly before they both took a solid swig.

The next moment was filled with small coughs, mostly Byleth’s, and the sour look that came over his face made Claude want to laugh. He refrained out of good manners, though. Barely.

“This is terrible,” Byleth said, his face pinched. “I thought my father’s whiskey was bad.”

Claude  _ did  _ laugh at that.  “An Abyss delicacy, to hear Yuri tell it,” he said good-naturedly. “I like it. Tastes awful, though, so I can only stand drinking a bit before I get sloppy.”

Byleth gave a noncommittal hum in reply, but in the silence that settled where the burn in his throat subsided, Claude couldn’t help but wonder. “D’you think that was the right call with Lorenz?”   
  
“...I think it was the only answer you could have given,” he answered, holding his cup in both hands. “He betrayed you and the Alliance,  which was unacceptable, and while I may not have felt as strongly as Blythe , I find that what he did for his own was the best option he’d had in the moment. But you helped correct the mistake, and I hope that that’s an example he learns from.”   
  
Claude nodded slowly. “...Yeah. I didn’t wanna be soft. I can’t let myself get mixed up in good memories with him, but I think that it was the right call. But Blythe, though… be honest. Is she gonna be okay?” he asked, letting worry seep into his tone. “You saw her out there. You’re both some of the best fighters on the continent, probably, but if she can’t follow orders and goes off half-cocked like that again, I can’t use her anymore.”   
  


Byleth nodded. “Blythe is… working through her grief, I think. I’d tell her about Lorenz, though I imagine she’s already seen him for herself since she’s with Ferdinand. But he was a good student, so I think he would have become a good man. Maybe they’re talking about it now,” he said pensively, swirling his drink around in his cup.

“...Do you think she’s safe to put on the field if we have to?” Claude asked cautiously, taking a sip of his drink and letting it sit in his mouth so the bitterness would keep him present.

“It depends,” Byleth sighed, cradling his drink. “For all that she behaved wildly and unpredictably, this outing probably helped her work through some of her emotions, and having Ferdinand back can only be good for her.”   
  
Claude said nothing, taking another sip of his drink instead. He supposed he’d have to take Byleth’s word on the matter, he knew his sister better than he did. Maybe she was like Raphael, exercise was how she worked through her problems. 

“Well, here’s hoping. We’ll see what  happens now that Edelgard’s lost one of her best men,” he grunted as he stretched in his chair. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, which was probably something he could blame the drink on. “I’m glad I have a few of my own back.”

Byleth was flushed behind his glass, probably also from the drink, but he turned his eyes away for a moment and said, “I’m glad I can be here with you as well.”

Despite himself, Claude could feel his face heat further, and he was fairly certain liquor wasn’t involved. Not entirely. He stared into the dregs of his cup , swirling it around  before draining the last drops. “Well… I’m glad for that. You’ve already helped us a lot. Just… kinda hope I can help you too,” he said, eyes crinkling as he gave his Professor a warm smile.

Byleth coughed, then, taking another sip of his own and looking away, cheeks tinged pink  in a way that he found endearing. He wished he could look at him better, get to know the green of his eyes that reminded him of seafoam, but he was quick to hide, and Claude wanted to understand why.

Claude’s appreciation of his dear professor was cut short, though , as there was the sound of a throat clearing outside the tent’s entrance and the voice of a messenger. “Uh, Your Grace?”

“Come in,” he sighed, hoping to shove down the frustration that was starting to build in his tone.

The messenger obeyed, skewing a bow as he entered. “A hawk arrived carrying this,” he said, handing him an envelope with purple wax pressed by the seal of a wolf. This was… odd. What had happened that Yuri had risked sending him a letter out in the open, especially so close to Adrestian lines?

“You’re dismissed,” he said as he broke open the seal and started reading the single line inside:

_ You’ll never guess what I found on my front lawn _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the plot thickens! I think most of you can guess what ended up on Yuri's lawn, but all the same, it's fun to l eave you wondering, keheh.
> 
> As every, we invite you to come join us at our discord! It's a nice little place, and we also have deleted scenes and things, like a fun shipping scene that got cut from this chapter.  
> https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm


	36. An Emperor at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see what Edelgard is doing.

It was before dawn when Edelgard awoke alone in her chambers.

Her handmaid would be coming to rouse her and dress her soon, but she simply did not have the energy to move yet.

She didn’t have much energy at all, of late. It seemed like the war was finally catching up to her. Five years of late nights and early mornings had slowly sapped her strength and dulled her edge in a way she had become very skilled in hiding. It wasn’t as if she could take a vacation, after all. People were dying in her name. She could handle a bit of exhaustion while those loyal to her paid the ultimate price.

She swung the covers off of her, revealing her scars to the open air. Even after all these years the cold made them itch.

It would have to remain a non-issue, though. She had a campaign to run. So she slid out of bed and walked to her armoire.  Donning her full regalia would require an attendant , but at least like this she wouldn’t have to reveal her scars. The only ones to ever see her scars had been Hubert and Byleth, and even they had only seen a few choice expanses of it and never the bare truth of the dry, dead husk that was once her heart, prodded and scarred by scalpels and starved for all but a bare moment in her life and leaving her with a crooked star .

All that was left was duty, the promise she had made to the ghosts of her family. She had to make their deaths mean something, make the story of her life to a conclusion that was more than  just a pointless tragedy.

By the time she had pulled on her tights and her long-sleeved under-bodice, her maid had entered on soundless feet. “Your Majesty,” she said, voice soft and nearly inaudible in the cavernous echoes of the emperor’s rooms.

“Lisa,” she said, nodding to match her curtsey. The rest of her pre-dawn routine went about in silence as Edelgard’s thoughts were heavy and not meant to weigh down an innocent servant’s shoulders. This was her duty and her responsibility. As much as she could, she would not allow the terrible price she has taken from her people to be any more painful than it needed to be.

Once Lisa had delicately painted on her make-up and carefully pinned her crown into place, Edelgard turned to her. “Thank you, Lisa,” she said softly, a hand at her shoulder. “Tell little Amelia  that  Edelgard says hello,” she said quietly, prompting a smile from the mousy woman who’d served her dutifully for the past five years.   
  
“Of course, your Majesty. She’ll be delighted,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

Edelgard shook her head. “No, thank you Lisa. You may go about your business.”

  
Without further ado, she bowed and left the room on soundless feet.

Edelgard deflated once she was alone, taking a deep inhale. There were no more excuses now. With a breath, she squared her shoulders, stepping out into the pre-dawn of the Imperial Palace.

Hubert was supposed to return from one of his ranging trips soon. Despite herself, the thought of seeing her most erstwhile loyal friend brought her more excitement than the news he would bear.

Likely, he’d bring with him news from the Aegir front as well. It was a dangerous strategy, but they had been pushing at Gloucester for years. If she could claim it, all she would have to do is grind in her heels until Leicester starved. Were Claude a more merciless leader, she may have chosen another route, but she knew him to care for his subjects and would be willing to parley.    
  
If she could bring him into the fold, they could crush the remainder of Faerghus’s pockets of resistance, and this would all  _ finally  _ be over.

She made her way over to her office, surprised to see none other than Hubert before her, hand to his chest bowing towards her.  Her eyes flicked down to the cuffs of his pants,  which were uncharacteristically muddy.  He’d just gotten in, clearly.

“Emperor Edelgard,” he said gravely. “I come bearing news.”   
  
She gave a single nod, unlocking the door and allowing him in wordlessly  before locking the door behind them both . 

“What is it, Hubert?” she asked in the Emperor’s voice.

The two of them had moved past the need for paltry greetings long ago, as they were sole allies in dark plots. The only people they could trust  were one another in this nest of vipers  who sang of loyalty on charlatans’ tongues . Simply knowing she was in a room  with the one trustworthy person she had left was a weight off her mind. If she could, she’d keep Hubert with her at all times.

“Aegir has been subdued,” he began bluntly. “A complete route. Aegir and his lieutenants are under Alliance control.”   
  
Edelgard’s eyes widened. “ _ Complete?  _ With  _ Ferdinand _ at the helm? Elaborate,” she ordered, stricken, leaning against her desk. Ferdinand was one of her shining powers. Wherever she sent him, he claimed victory with  minimal  losses  all while leading heroically from the front. To have him defeated so thoroughly… how? There was no one in either the Alliance or the Holy Kingdom or even Adrestia who could manage such a thing against Ferdinand. He was her ace.

The silence dragged on, Edelgard looking at Hubert in disbelief. Not only was he beaten, but Hubert was  _ stalling? _ “Blood and darkness, Hubert,  _ speak, _ ” she demanded, only barely restraining herself from raising her voice.

“ Forgive me, Your Majesty. It is… impossible news ,” he said, voice almost grief-stricken enough  to match the way his face pinched. “There were reports from our soldiers on the front lines that they were set upon by demons… with green hair.”   
  
Time seemed to stop in that moment before the sun rose. The last rays of moonlight lit the room as she stared at Hubert, face frozen to hide her disbelief. She ran his words through her mind over and over again and achieved nothing as one word repeating itself in her mind: No.

“You — you’ve confirmed this?” she asked, suddenly breathless and weak in the knees.  She gripped the desk to steady herself , slowly making a pantomime of  stability as she went to collapse into her high-backed chair.

Hubert nodded. “Two fighters, a man and a woman, both with green hair, using blades which could stretch. One had what was described as a demon’s arm, which she used to tear through the troops and single-handedly alter the course of the battle.There can be no doubt,” he said like he was reading someone’s epitaph  rather than delivering the news of a resurrection .

Edelgard felt cold sweat beading on her neck from the sheer shock of it all. She rested her head on her clasped hands, as her mind refused to function properly as she worked to process it.   
  
“Does Thales know?” she whispered  even though the answer mattered little . Of course he would, or if he didn’t, he would within hours.

“Most likely,” Hubert confirmed. “My sources haven’t heard anything through their channels, but I don’t doubt the snake will be up to something to deal with this. He’ll be hungry for another subject, especially after the…  _ jailbreak  _ a few months prior.”

“We can’t let him,. What are our options? What are they doing?” she demanded with a voice like granite, her eyes suddenly burning with fire. She would not let Thales have her. Either of them. She owed her that much.   
  
She owed her the world if she were being honest. If, when she was finished, she wanted her head, she could have that too.

Hubert referred to his moleskine, flipping through it soundlessly. “They were last seen headed west-by-northwest in the direction of Garreg Mach. Recent scouting in the region ended with two scouting parties going missing, presumed killed in action. My theory is they are headed there to investigate with Lord von Riegan. Yuri has confirmed he had nothing to do with it, and obviously Claude would never do such a thing, so whatever caused it is a free radical.”   
  
“Do we have units in the region?”   
  
Hubert shook his head. “Nothing until the forward line at Airmid. Bernadetta has been hard-pressed to do more than send scouts that far west. She’s struggling,” he said, a strain of worry in his voice. “I shudder to think how she’ll react knowing Ferdinand won’t be there to save her.”   
  
“She has Dorothea to help her command, she’ll be fine,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Besides, Petra’s rotation will bring her around to Varley again in a few weeks.”   
  
“As you say, Majesty,” Hubert said, flipping through his notes. “Regardless, that’s the urgent news. The final victory was bloody, but Ferdinand is safe, and from description a fair amount of his command structure survived.”   
  
Edelgard nodded, her face a stoic mask as she stared into the distance. “So be it, then.”

She looked out the window over Enbarr as first light slowly began climbing over the line of buildings, setting the city awash in color that would build to the warmth of fire. It was a visual that set her traitorous mind down many different avenues, some of them unkind. Her love was out there, but no longer was she something she could derive warmth from. She wouldn’t want her any longer. Perhaps she’d sooner set a torch to her city and see it bathe in fire .

“...Hubert, what am I going to do?” she asked in a rare moment of weakness, her mask crumbling. “I… I can’t stop now. But to face her…”

“You are the Emperor, Majesty. You need neither her approval nor her support. We will succeed with or without their help,” said Hubert, ever the brutal pragmatist. “Perhaps, if we must, we will simply allow Thales to have them both—”   
  
“—No, Hubert. I won’t allow it. He can’t have her,” she interrupted, heat in her quiet voice. “That beast has proven himself to be everything I feared.”

“And yet still you are allied to him,” Hubert pointed out mercilessly. “If not for matters such as this, then why?”

“Because I can’t risk his ire being leveled against us, Hubert!” she hissed, fist slamming into her desk as she stood up. “You’ve seen the weapons he  _ ‘showcased’  _ for us, how he controls the Beasts so easily, how much he ransacked from the monastery. He’s a demon of my own devising, but I can’t afford to fight him,”  Then, her gaze fell and she let her fist loosen . “...Not now, at least.”

“Then when?” asked Hubert, merciless as always in his cutting to the truth of the matter.   
  
“When I’m not fighting a war on two fronts and trying to unite a continent, Hubert,” she countered, exasperated. “You think I’ve been sending you on these sorties to enjoy the fresh air? We need to find him so that when the time comes, we can crush him before he can use more of his…  _ steel magics _ against us.”

Hubert nodded. “I only wish to be sure, Majesty.” 

Edelgard scoffed. “Yes, because I’ve become more comfortable with his methods in the weeks since we’ve spoken.” 

Despite herself, she felt her posture sagging. “To think the ones who had pushed me to destroy the crest system were such hypocrites. Using crests to make monsters, collecting manakete relics as if they were creating a museum, harvesting the blood of dragons… I was so blind.”   
  
“Hindsight will often prompt such a reaction, Majesty. It is rarely worth pondering. What we need to focus on is the here and now: what do we do about Professor Blythe?” Hubert asked,  his face serious as he seated himself across from her.

Damn him, but he was right. He always was.

“We… keep them there, in Garreg Mach,” she said, thinking aloud. “If we can keep them in place, account for their movements and manipulate where they go, we can ensure they do less damage. We could…”

And then it struck her.

“...We could aim them at Cornelia,” she breathed, a vicious glee crawling up from her stomach to rest in her lungs.

“How do you propose we do that?” he asks, clutching at his chin: a sign he was intrigued, she knew from long years with the man.   
  
“Simple: we pull back.  _ Wherever _ they came from, Garreg Mach is a poignant reminder of everything they’ve lost. They’ll want to even the score, and Claude is unlikely to see an issue with them moving out to reave through Cornelia’s forces north after we fall back to the border to bolster our own. There would be nothing for them to do  _ except  _ go for Cornelia’s forces, and in the meantime we’ll be able to marshall our forces and negotiate for Ferdinand,” she continued, pace quickening as the plan came together only  _ slightly  _ faster than she could speak.

“Hmm… Professor Byleth is also there. Knowing she is the one responsible for Dimitri’s death will only sharpen his bloodlust,” Hubert mused as began to scribble in his notes. “I can make all that’s been discussed happen.”   
  
“Good. We’ll push for having them both leveled against Arianrhod. Cornelia is cunning, and Arianrhod is the strongest fortress in all of Fodlan, so it should keep them occupied while we plan something more substantive in the interim. Was there anything else, Hubert?” she asked, hiding comfortably behind her Emperor’s mask once more.   
  
“Nothing that needs to be discussed at this hour, Your Majesty. I will return to you with a more in-depth plan at a later point,” he said  as he closed his moleskine with finality . Gods, but she could kiss that man sometimes.   
  
“Good,” she repeated, a grim smile on her face. “Off with you, agent. Take care, and be safe in all things. No plot is worth losing you.”

She rose, as did Hubert, whose bow was a bit more solemn than usual.   
  
“Of course, Majesty. I am ever your servant, in all things and in all ways,” he promised in that tone of voice that broke her heart. He really, truly would. She could send him to hell and back, and he would never leave her. She prayed one day he could let her go and find his own happiness,  but for now, all she could do was send him away and lock the door behind him .

She took her seat, clasped her hands on top of her desk,  and was alone once more .

The silence held weight in here.

She had hoped that one day she could show her the palace, take her to Enbarr, show her the opera house, where perhaps Dorothea and Manuela would perform for their Emperor and her most precious companion.

_Edelgard,_ _I would always protect you if you would let me,_ she’d promised, but she knew even then that she would make a liar of her. Demand the impossible and scorn her when she failed.

_ Edelgard, _ she’d whispered to her as she held her when the nightmares woke her, stroking her back, shushing her, speaking not a word of the tears at her cheeks.

_ Edelgard, _ she’d called, waving to get her attention when they would have tea, first Hresvelg then Seiros blend.

_ Edelgard, _ she’d cried out fearfully, after having proven her godhood in the tomb, when she had been too cowardly to unmask herself without that brute’s urging.

_ Edelgard, can’t we be together? _ she’d asked, corpse-like at the parley, and she’d been run through the heart.   
  
She’d believed her heart had been hardened to the pain she would cause, that she understood that whatever hurt she felt was only what she deserved, but she was a fool to think that was what mattered.

_ We don’t need war,  _ she’d moaned, despair breaking her where she stood, Edelgard possessed by the insane urge to embrace the woman with a sword to her throat.

_ Why couldn’t you leave us all alone? _

Dimly, she realized she’d begun crying. She thought those tears had run dry years ago, but then, she’d thought her love dead, saving her from her own foolishness.

She wasn’t sure why she’d saved her — she had no  _ reason  _ to. Had it been the manakete bond she had read about? Could she truly not stop loving her even after all she’d done? Was her offer at the parlay table sincere or little more than a sick joke, a jab at her as her and Thales’s plans cancelled out? That bastard… going behind her back during her own invasion to try and trap the Ketes at the parlay table.

She wondered if she’d even deserved to be saved. Perhaps it had been her way of showing that even if she could never join her, she still believed in her ideals, still wanted her to succeed. The fact that now, maybe, she’d get the answers to those questions filled her with a fear  that seeped into her bones .

To see her again after all this time… to stand before the only woman she’d ever cherished and have her judge her dispassionately was terrifying, because no matter what she might say, no matter how passionate her arguments or what was on the line between them over her actions, she wouldn’t stop,  _ couldn’t _ stop. If she stopped now, what was all this blood for? If she was to be a monster, it was so that she would be the last, not so that she would fail and be nothing more than a dark smear on history, the dupe upon which the Slitherers would blame their misdeeds.

She had thought herself strong enough in her ideals to pay any price, offer up her skin and soul for them, but she found that in the wake of what she had done, what she had seen… she couldn’t.   
  
Thales had offered her power, Beasts aplenty to obliterate her enemies if she so desired, but she couldn’t take that poisoned gift. She would not raze the continent she claimed to love, emperor over aught but ashes. If she would be a tyrant, she would at least be a human one.

On one topic she and Thales agreed, though divergent in their approaches: she couldn’t allow manaketes to impact the world of men, and that included Thales’s horrific mockeries. Hubert had done research, and so had she. Enbarr’s royal library had stood since Emperor Wilhelm had founded it in Enbarr at the end of the Age of Heroes and held many priceless documents from the age — personal accounts describing Seiros, the Saints, and revealing secrets to her.

It was true. The manaketes had always been there, and they were the victims of aggression. Hubert came to her one day, with scraps of paper carefully ensconced in glass prisons for their own safety. They were gibberish, but they were familiar. She recognized some of the signs.

Telling Linhardt they were documents from the earliest known accounts of crests had been all it had taken for the man to be distracted from his other projects, painting a horrific if fragmentary picture.

_ Red Zanado _ . It, next to the death of the goddess, and the name  _ Nemesis  _ had told her all she needed to know. She’d learned much at the knee of the Slitherers, like how Crests could be transferred by the blood of a manakete. It had not taken much more for her to sort the matter. Crests were the poison gift humanity had given itself at sword point by drinking the blood of innocents like basest animals in the hunt for power.

The manaketes  _ had _ manipulated world history, but only to erase themselves from it.

She could not say Rhea was justified in all her actions across history, but it certainly painted a starker, more desperate image. An endless game of cat and mouse, the remnants of manakete society, trying to kill the Slitherers who wished to devour them.

And they had all been played, dancing to the tunes of two invisible masters.

It explained so much and yet only confirmed what she already knew. She had to stop the Slitherers, for they had used her to tip the balance. It was her responsibility to put an end to them and put an end to the conflict once and for all so the manaketes could have what they’d always wanted: to be left alone.

And so, the war had slowed. Casualties lowered. She couldn’t stop, obviously, she wasn’t a fool. She  made engagements less frequent and marshaled her forces carefully with only periodic attempts to overtake her opponents when the chance struck  while  Hubert hunted for Thales’s secret hideout, wherever it might have been. There was no one else she could trust with such a vital mission. Before things ended, even if she lost the war, even if she were executed for her crimes, if Thales died, at least she’d be able to break the cycle.

That Hubert’s hunting had already borne fruit and a certain high-value prisoner had been freed to escape to parts unknown had simply been a bonus.

It was… all coming together. Even if Blythe rightly never trusted her again, they could still work together in some way so that Blythe and hers would never have to deal with humans again. She’d already lost her once, so  what was a second time ? At least then it would be knowing she was happy.

Dawn was breaking properly now. In a moment, an attendant would knock at her door to advise her of her appointments for the day, and any hour now and one of Thales’s operatives would come to assess her state of mind and pretend she was an oafish child who needed to be coddled.

When the knock finally came, she stood and prepared herself for the usual influx of meek-mannered kowtowing,  but instead the face of Tomas stared back at her, baleful with its single burnt eye

“Your Majesty,” he stated in his watery voice, stepping into her office without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Tomas,” she stated, closing the door behind her. “I’m honored to have one of such high status as you in my office.”   
  
“I’m sure. Do try and remain professional despite it, hmmm?” he said in that false voice  of his that grated at her nerves .    
  
“I’m sure for you I can manage. Now, what is it that has you here and not far, far away from me?” she pressed, taking her seat once more, gimlet eye watching the creature before her.   
  
“Oh, just keeping you informed. Did you hear?” he said, clearly savoring the information he believed he had over her. “Your pretty concubine has returned.”   
  
“...My what,  _ Tomas? _ ” she asked sweetly, playing the fool he wanted her to.

“Why, the dragon girl! She and her brother both just decimated your invasion into Gloucester!” he said, only a shade below dancing for his enthusiasm.   
  
She had to play this carefully. She took a deep breath, let it out.   
  
“If you’re going to come  into my office and waste my time with blatant fabrications, you can leave,” she grit out  with disdain that she hadn’t had to fabricate for once. It was almost therapeutic to be able to tap into . “I’m expecting an attendant at any moment, and I don’t wish to inflict your face on any of them.”

“Oh, there is no breath of a lie here, little girl. They’re back from the dead,” he teased, tone probably something he thought was threatening. “...Or perhaps the fall didn’t kill them at all. I suppose it matters little, after all, since _Riegan_ is the one who found them. Back from the dead just to kill _you_.”  
  
She kept her face to a flat, blank line. “... Lovely. Thank you for the information, but I’m sure my own scouts would be honored to advise me and with only half the asinine teasing. I return your olive branch. Now get out.”  
  
She opened the door and found herself pleased for the way he pouted. 

But then he stopped and turned to look at her once more .

“...Don’t you want to know how we’re going to catch them?” he asked, and damn him if he hadn’t hooked her.

She stilled, staring at him.   
  
“If it’s important, you’ll tell me properly without making an ass of yourself,” she said with a curled lip as she closed the door again.

“Of course, your Majesty,” he said, offering her an overblown bow for entirely the wrong occasion. If she wanted him to believe he was inviting her to dance, she’d bash his head in, intelligence or not.   
  
Edelgard crossed her arms before him. “Well?”   
  
He clutched at his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Majesty! Surely someone with such valuable information merits a touch more respect?” he asked rhetorically, making her grit her teeth.

“...Have you any information for me,  _ sir? _ ” she asked. He would get one. Any more and he was getting thrown out.

“Why, no!” he cackled, swinging the door open. “You can rest assured that you’ll see what I’ve planned for those two in  _ due time _ .”

Then he traipsed off, leaving her to stare at where he had been with a look of stunned bemusement on her face.

  
Whatever they’d done to him at Garreg Mach must have fundamentally damaged something in him. She hardly spent time with the man beforehand, but she remembered a much more sober person preoccupied with his experiments, not… some jester who had successfully wasted an Emperor’s time.    
  
She flagged down a maid. “Please have someone fix me a pot of Hresvelg blend. Well-steeped,” she said with a sigh. This was going to be one of those mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you can, please comment, or leave some kudos! It helps other people to find us! (and our self esteem!)
> 
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> 
> Did you enjoy this little sidebar? We haven't been from Edie's perspective in quite a few chapters! How does she seem compared to her younger self?


	37. Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn, Claude and her pack return to Garreg Mach. Familiar faces greet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: putrefaction. Skip to end notes for a summary of events. Stay safe, everyone.

To see the aftermath of the battle of Garreg Mach again was almost as difficult as when it had all happened five years ago .

Flayn dismounted, every step feeling immeasurably small as she beheld what Seiros had left in her wake. Staring behind her at one of what she knew to be Seiros’s claw marks scoring through  what had once been a tavern’s wall, she truly did feel  insignificant .

Oh, Auntie Seiros… 

Flayn was at a loss as she looked upon the devastation of the battle now five years past. Even here in the outskirts of the monastery, in the village which had lived in Garreg Mach’s shadow, she had been made to fight to protect the people. To sacrifice herself for her and Father’s safety, as well as that of her charges and of Byleth and Blythe.

It was only with concerted effort that she stopped tears from staining her cheeks. She had to be strong for her pack, and for Seiros, whom she could only pray was still alive.

She supposed she could at least be thankful that the only dead she saw wore Adrestia’s red if anything at all.  She tried not to think of the unfortunate civilians whose clothes would not have been preserved like their armor . She doubted Auntie could tell in her state, but that the majority of the civilians had been evacuated was at least good practice on their part.

Sunbleached skulls stared back at her where she saw the dead. In the streets,  hidden in corners and partially reclaimed by the earth , hunkered in broken buildings that had been torn apart… 

It was Byleth who appeared beside her  then with his soothing presence . The petrichor and juniper were so sweet to her in that moment as his hand  gently lay on her shoulder .

“Are you alright, Flayn?” he asked  in a softer voice she knew he reserved for the most delicate among them .   
  


She nodded shakily, screwing up her features even  as she brought the heel of her palm to scrub roughly at her eyes . “I’m fine. It is only seeing damage like this, this far from the monastery… Auntie would have had to fight for hours without rest to get this far and protect our escape...” she sighed sadly. Auntie Seiros shouldn’t have had to fight. Despite herself, she felt that seed of resentment against Edelgard grow.

Byleth remained silent for a long moment before he deigned to speak. “She fought to protect what she loved. That can make a dragon of anyone. We won’t waste what she gave us.”   
  
Flayn nodded, a flame of determination lighting in her chest. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Byleth,” she said, leaning her head onto his shoulder thankfully. “You always know just what to say,” The smell of his embarrassed pleasure pleased her even more. He deserved to enjoy the fruits of his intelligence and kindness, and she’d be more than happy to provide therein.

_ Love makes dragons of us _ … she supposed it was true, too. She still remembered the way her heart stopped, her body moving without conscious thought when Lysithea had been under attack. She hardly knew what she was doing, filled with a desperate need to protect her… her dear, dear friend whom she cherished.

Neither she nor father could achieve a full transformation as Rhea had. She doubted that even if they could  that they would approach her prodigious size. She truly was Zanado’s greatest protector. Father had even said no one else approached the Immaculate One in size or strength, and having finally seen her for herself, she could only agree.

She stepped through the ghost town, eminently uncomfortable. The bodies… they had all wasted away to nothing but bone. People with lives, hopes, dreams, people who cared about them, all crushed under her aunt’s rage at  _ that woman’s _ command,  all left to rot and be pecked at by crows without so much as a proper burial.

  
Blythe had been right back then. They didn’t need war.

She carefully led her palfrey, who was thankfully unbothered by the sights before them  compared to those they travelled with . She could smell Blythe’s discomfort and Father’s muted solemnity. Even after the battle, the villagers didn’t return. The damage had been severe, and surely they believed that more war was to come. Best to flee to the four winds.

Lives  had been destroyed by the footsteps of giants, and she wished  more than anything that she could apologize to them. Slowly, her pace had her catching up to Claude, who had also dismounted from his beautiful wyvern as they walked through town. His scent spoke of discomfort, but compared to the rest of their little group, his was certainly more palatable than the others.

  
“Your wyvern is truly beautiful, Claude,” she piped up once she was close enough, letting her palfrey lag behind. The antipathy between horses and one of their natural predators was no secret, and she would not begrudge the poor dear a bit of distance.

Claude turned, confusion turning to delight to see her, smile dawning over his face. “My pride and joy,” he said softly, patting one of her wings.   
  
“Does she have a name?” she inquired curiously.   
  
“Somayeh,” he said proudly. “High above. Dignified.”   
  
“That is… Almyran, yes? It’s a beautiful name, Claude. You’re quite  cultured !” she enthused, smiling brightly for him.

Oranges filled the air, pleased embarrassment mixing with the spices and amber that made up his scent. “I didn’t ever see her at the monastery! Did you only get her recently?” she asked politely, surprised to see Claude’s face freeze as they walked.

“Well, no, she just… stayed with her handler,”  he said, scratching the back of his head in a gesture that Flayn had come to know as a rather common tell in people. “I’m sorta surprised, though . As far  as I could tell , only Seteth really knew how to fly with one. I’d already gotten training, so I figured it would be best to just focus on tactics and stuff.”   
  
She frowned in worry, placing a hand at his elbow. “I’m sorry, Claude, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It is only, she truly is a beauty. I’m sure F—  _ Brother _ has only restrained himself from asking about her out of politeness. He loves wyverns, and a  _ white  _ wyvern like this, why,  it seems like something out of a fairy story ! Perhaps you two could bond over that?”

Claude chuckled good naturedly, discomfort leaving him. “ You’re just trying to score your brother some friends, aren’t you Flayn?”   
  
“ It’s so much more than that! I want everyone to be friends,” she said with more defensive enthusiasm than she supposed was polite, but for all intents and purposes, she was still young. Politer company would forgive her for it . “And I think you and my brother can be more than awkward castle-mates like at Derdriu. Seteth respects anyone who can care so well for their mount, and you clearly love and care for Somayeh.”

Claude seemed thoughtful for a moment. “ Hm, maybe. I just worry that, I dunno, I won’t be a good conversation partner or something and end up putting my foot in my mouth since he tends to, ah,  _ avoid  _ certain topics ,” he said, meaning clear.   
  
It was Flayn’s turn to be uncomfortable. “With Byleth and Blythe back with us, I am sure he will be more willing to share. You’ve proven you are our friend, after all,” she said, trying to put him at ease with another smile. “He’s just cautious.”   
  
Claude snorted. “Thanks, Flayn.  I’ll try to take that to heart ,” he said, only a bit sarcastically, which she counted as a victory. Wordlessly, she left him to his walking.

In the distance, she could see the outline of Garreg Mach. Just a bit further. She was afraid of what they’d find there and what they  _ wouldn’t. _ The remnants of their heroic dead, ransacked for evil experimentation… the mere thought filled her with righteous indignation.

Without even thinking, she found Blythe wandering slowly behind them and ran back to meet her  with a hug and a fierce pout on her face.

“Flayn...?”  she said, blinking her eyes as if harried out of a daze .

Flayn merely grumbled, folding over and letting Blythe lead them as she wrapped herself around her waist, mumbling her answer into her hip. “ _ I’m grumpy, and I want a hug. You’re grumpy, and I bet you’d like a hug,  _ _ so now we’re both getting a hug _ _. Make your peace, I’m a clingy packmate, _ ” she said,  and merely doing so , acknowledging that they were pack already chased away the storm clouds she felt building inside her as they continued their trek onwards.

After about a minute of this bizarre situation, Blythe spoke up. “Flayn, did you want to talk, or...?”

Flayn took the opportunity to actually come up into a more reasonable position, simply wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling at her shoulder. “No need. I know  _ why  _ I’m grumpy. I just need to let it pass, and this helps. Am I annoying you?”

  
Blythe shook her head. “No, just… confused, I suppose. I’m still not used to you in this way.”.

  
Flayn tittered sweetly. “Well, the best way to get accustomed to me is to spend time with me, so I fail to see a problem!” she said, doing her best to remain chipper. Flayn was just a bit sad and angry, but Blythe had darker demons to face, and she needed to be strong for her and for her brother too, even if he was better at hiding it.  He could fool his sister, perhaps, but he couldn’t drown out the brine from a more experienced nose .

Father was a beacon of stability,  however . For all that he was the aspect of Wind back in Zanado, he was more like bedrock as a man. Stable, reliable. He was not good at reaching out, but he was always there when he was needed, to keep his loved ones safe when they could withstand the weight of the world no more..   
  
Flayn, though, had learned differently. She was the healer. While Seteth kept them all together and made sure no one broke, she was the one who helped him and Auntie deal with their pain when it was too much. She helped them to smile when it seemed they never would again, so just as she had for them, she would do the same for her pack members. Her family.

She nuzzled lovingly into Blythe’s shoulder, squeezing her waist. “Are you doing okay, Blythe?” she asked gently, offering her a smile. She didn’t want to push her. She could not let this feel like it was some blunt assessment of her mental health. It was simply a packmate asking after a loved one’s health because she  cared for them.

Rust filled her nostrils, but she was ready for it. This was her duty as pack. “Not really,” she sighed, voice small.

Flayn reached out and grabbed her scaled hand. Her coloring was so beautiful…   
  
“Did you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you can’t yet. I can just stay here with you for a while  if you’d rather that ,” she promised, pulling up right next to her so they were shoulder to shoulder.

Blythe let out a shuddery exhale. “Just stay with me?” she asked, voice so terribly small.

Losing Edelgard must have been a terrible wound. She remembered Father after Mother passed. He’d been little more than a walking corpse, and no amount of smiles, or laughter, or cuddles, or support seemed to make any difference to his mood. They had been bonded, of course, but for a baby manakete still learning their feelings, it must have been incredibly difficult to manage emotionally.

“Of course, Blythe,” she said softly, squeezing her hand firmly. “I’m right here. We all are. However you may need us.”   
  
They walked like that for a while, hand in hand. Her palfrey had circled back to trail behind her, joining Blythe’s own horse peaceably. Flayn wished she could do more for her, but her studies had stated that with issues of such sensitivity, it was usually for the best to wait for them to open up willingly. Blythe had been raised as a human, and she likely had preconceptions about sharing such painful and sensitive information about herself.

They walked in silence for a time, their caravan having slowed to a walking pace as they made it through the wreckage of the village. Garreg Mach was visible in the distance, and there was no rush to get there. Flayn doubted she was the only one who was a bit apprehensive at the thought of going back to what had once been her home.

They lead their horses through a field of corpses. The gates stood even now, though blown outwards and having barely hung by their hinges when Rhea had smashed through them. 

She felt guilty for how she hardly even gave the dead souls left to rot a second thought, but she refused to let those feelings slow her down. War was hell, she knew this beyond any doubt. The Red Emperor reaped what she sowed, and her subjects paid the price. Blythe smelled… not neutral — she hadn’t smelled neutral since the invasion — but at least she didn’t seem bothered by the sights she was seeing. Father, too. 

Byleth’s scent, though, was worryingly complex.  There was juniper — so much that it overpowered her nose if she breathed deeply enough, but it was only that way that she could detect the acrid salt underneath. There was something saline beneath it all, and it wasn’t the brine of the sea, but something arid that hindered growth and reminded her of ancient oceans that dried into deserts of pillared salt .

She kept walking, following Claude who had become the de facto party leader  while no one else had been looking. She supposed it was for the best for how the rest of them were… unaligned or else indisposed in a myriad of ways. They would need a pillar moving forward .

Walking through  the gates into the market, gazing at the divots Rhea had left in the stone were surreal. She knew she was one of the strongest dragons of all, unmatched in size and resilience, but to see the aftermath  of her foray … it was as if giants had decided to tear divots out of the monastery at random,  destroying buildings and leaving a terrifying circle of deformed stone in the center of the market signifying where her breath had liquified  everything that had stood in its path. 

She didn’t look for bones in the circle. There wouldn’t be any.

The rest of the monastery wasn’t much better. The dorms had been partially collapsed  on the second floor, and the glass of the greenhouse had been shattered. The dock still stood somehow, but the officer’s building… she felt a pang. She needed to go in her room, check if they were still there. The building was nearly leveled, but maybe  if she was careful on the way to her room…

“Hey, Flayn!” Claude called from off where the gardens had stood, now grown wild and rampant. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. That thing looks ready to collapse into itself if you go mucking around in there.”

She bit back a sigh. It did, too.All the same, she had to check and be sure. She had few possessions she truly cared for, but she had to at least attempt to make an inventory of what remained in this sad stone circle, home now only to ghosts and vermin.   
  
“I have to check something, I promise I’ll be careful!” she called back with what she hoped was a disarming wave.

Claude waved back dismissively, evidently dropping the subject. Good.

She knew he was just being cautious, but she was thankful he wasn’t making an issue of it. Despite her looks, she was a competent person, a skilled warrior, a gifted healer, and someone with more than a thousand years of life behind her, even if not many knew that. She deserved a little respect now and then.

Stepping into the ruins of what used to be the building where Rhea held court was harrowing. The elements had torn at the wood and varnish, erasing the scent she had so grown accustomed to. It took a bit of acrobatics and a bit of rubble stacking, but she did manage to climb up onto the remains of the second floor, pleased to see her rooms at least seemed to have avoided the devastation. Father’s looked like they’d lost a hunk of them to Auntie’s stumbling, but that was simply a fact of the matter.

Taking Claude’s words to heart, she did her best to disturb as little as she could as entered her rooms.  Aside from the dust that now overran the surfaces , they were almost as she’d left them that day. She supposed she should be thankful.  There had doubtless been many who would have wanted to plunder Garreg Mach for its treasures, but from what Claude had explained, Yuri did not allow for such things. He and Abyss had kept this sad place safe once Thales  had taken what he had wanted.

She walked over to her vanity, reached into its drawer and pulled out a small oak box, aged but sturdy, and opened it.

Relief flooded over her . Her hair clips — thank the stars. Her thumb traced over one  as it sat in its velvet home.  They were the dearest memento of her departed mother  that she’d been given before Zanado had fallen. And now, she had them once more, safely in her possession where they belonged.

It was with practiced movements that she clipped them into place and ran her hands over them again. At least one small thing had been returned to her on this strange errand Claude had brought them all on.

It was  inconceivable to think he would be bringing more troops here, along with Blythe’s former student  among the prisoners . The thought of this den of ghosts having life inside its walls again was both exciting and somehow sacrilegious. Garreg Mach had died, and Rhea had been its heart, its master for thousands of years. She was gone, and everything that made Garreg Mach more than mere masonry  had gone with her .

Having people within it wouldn’t resurrect her home, only make it all the clearer what had been lost. She  was beginning to understand why neither Rhea nor Seteth had ever attempted to resettle Zanado. There was no point. It would never be the same, not truly, and in the attempt it would only serve to let them forget the tragedy that had changed them so thoroughly.

She decided she would let Father sort through his own things  — and the rubble, too, she thought with a wry sort of humor — at his own leisure. It was not her business what had or had not survived the invasion, and Father had secrets he kept even from her  which was perfectly fine. Everyone has something or other they keep private even from their closest, and she knew no one was exempt from this fact, especially given how long-lived their kind was .

With careful steps and an agile leap, she returned back to the ground floor, and quickly took stock of where everyone had gone while she had taken her detour.

Hmm… Claude, she smelled, had gone to put up Somayeh  in what remained of the wyvern rookery off in one of the turrets on the walls, and Father had put up the horses in stables.  Both were mercifully large, and they would be able to at least sleep safe from the elements even if Auntie might have damaged them. Knowing Father, he’d give them blankets too. He sincerely respected the animals they and humans used as beasts of burden and war, and she agreed with his feelings. Mute as they were, it was the duty of their caretakers to give them lives worth the hard work they were put to.

Blythe and Byleth, though, she should have guessed where they’d go.

She went past the pond, past the green house, past the dorms  as she made her way onward .

Her nose picked up the scent of rot somewhere around the sauna, and when she gathered the courage to turn her head toward the source, her eyes were greeted with red .

She’d seen her fair share of Adrestian dead these past five years, but each one was just as jarring as the first and served as a reminder. She hadn’t stayed long enough to witness the baser, more immediate aftermath. She was a combat-forged healer, so death was not new to her. She’d been prepared to be greeted by the dead they’d left behind, to see as the earth slowly reclaimed sun-bleached bone, but it always made her stomach turn to see the… stages in between as the flesh sloughed off the body and the scavengers made life in what had lost it.

This scout had died more recently, she thought as she turned away before her breakfast threatened to make a second appearance. She had a purpose beyond here besides.

She continued on towards the bridge. Or, what was left of it at least.

She looked on as the two gazed into the depths of the ravine where a single moment had cost them everything. They had survived, but the cost had been set by those beyond their control. While they healed in their slumber, the eternity of five short years had buried the life they knew and torn their world asunder .

Nothing she had learned in all her years even as a healer could aid in this kind of suffering, and that fact alone struck her at her core . They were a pack, it was her duty to do  _ something _ for them, anything to show them that the end of their past life only meant the beginning of this one,  but that meant having to show them there were things in it beyond their grief .

  
Losing them once had been enough. Now they would need to find themselves . She stepped forward, trusting the wind to herald her scent to them.

It was Byleth who spoke in flat monotone. “Flayn.”   
  
“It’s… a lot, isn’t it?” she asked, for lack of anything more to say. What  _ could _ she say?  She’d woken up to a world she hadn’t recognized on more than one occasion, but never so close as to what had taken it from her. She’d never dealt with anything like what they had during the invasion, never lost what they’d lost in all her life.  _ You’ll find more humans to care for? _ Even if on some level she believed it, she’d be a fool to say it now.

“I don’t know which was longer: the fall, or the time it took you both to wake up,” came a voice from behind them, making them all turn .

“Yuri,” Byleth all but breathed, the juniper subsiding to something more believable amidst the petrichor.

Something of a genuine smile crossed Yuri’s lips, a thing that Flayn got the impression was an acceptable concession on his part, though she didn’t miss the night jasmine in his scent. “Try not to fall again, yeah? It was luck that let us find you last time .”

“Or providence,” Byleth said without humor to his voice.

“I try not to give credit without proof,” Yuri replied, his smile turning more to the vaguely mirthful one he wore at rest as he crossed his arms.

“How  _ did  _ you find us?” Blythe interrupted .

“It’s hard not to notice two spots of bright green in a muddy river bed,” Yuri said, giving a half shrug. “I’m just glad you weren’t face down. ”

There was a moment of silence then, and she could practically see the sparks flying off of Yuri as he looked her cousin over. Night jasmine, flowers, deep, thick heart’s blood. “...It’s good to see you again,” Yuri said, and she could practically hear what had been left unstated.

The way the juniper smokescreen in her brother’s scent faded, petrichor returning and harmonizing with it… the notes of sweetness in his scent she had not smelled before were proof enough that these two had a history.

“...It’s good to be back, even if I’m a bit late,” Byleth answered,  a bit of the salt seeping back in .

Oh, poor Byleth… It hurt him so badly, even though it wasn’t even his fault. Were it not for the stranger in their midst, she’d have reached for his hand.

Yuri smiled again, this time much more sincere. “It’s okay. What matters is you’re with us now. Isn’t that right, Claude?”

Flayn hadn’t even sensed him. He’d snuck up behind them, and stood close to Yuri. “Yup. Welcome to the winning team, you guys.” he said, showing off a radiant smile of his own, giving both twins a warm once-over as incense and amber slid sinuously through the air.

Claude was a good liar, she had to admit. He’d taught her to play cards, over the years, and she would always catch him out in his bluffs, and when he asked how she knew, she’d simply smile. His scent was not subtle,  after all .

But there was no bluff here. Where he stood next to Yuri like that was where he was meant to be and looking at her cousins with raw, unfiltered love and admiration, there could be no question as to his feelings.

She kept silent and promised herself that she would speak to both of them in private to see what their intentions were with her sweet cousins. They were still so fragile and delicate still, and allies or no, her pack came first, in all things. So if they intended to make life difficult for her loved ones, Flayn had her methods.

“Speaking of  who’s on our team ,” Yuri said and turned to face the cathedral once more, “there’s something you really need to see. Claude? ”

“Yeah, I’ll call Somayeh,” he answered before putting two fingers to his lips and whistling loudly.

It was certainly a credit to Claude’s skill as a flyer and a handler that such a call was able to beckon the white wyvern and have her heed it at all, but come she did, her shadow growing larger as she glided closer and landed nimbly on the delicate bridge. Flayn could only be impressed, something that showed on her face and had Claude smirking, pleased and flushed with the smell of amber and oranges.

She truly was stunning. Her scales gleamed in the sunlight, her teeth were clean and white, her horns stood proud and elegant… Flayn was not as knowledgeable in matters of wyverns as her father, but even if one had never seen one before, it was obvious that Somayeh was a credit to her breed.

Flying over proved to be a simple matter. Somayeh politely let herself be mounted by one rider after another until they’d all reached the other side of the bridge, Claude patting her fondly before dismissing her to do as she pleased. When they wanted to go back they could just use the tunnels down into Abyss.

Flayn looked up at the grand cathedral, heart stirring. This had been the seat of Rhea’s power, but now it stood ruined.  There was a great hole in its roof likely caused by Auntie’s initial transformation. The inside would likely be in bad shape as a result.

That wasn’t the only thing, though. There were more corpses strewn about, all adorned in Adrestian red, but there were also russet stains on the stones around them still. They had been killed after the most recent rainfall, then. If they were prudent, they could be put on pyres before the worst of the rot beset them .

There had been so many corpses. Distantly she realized that between the fresh corpses she’d noticed and the skeletonized remains from five years ago, there must have been at least fifty dead. Cleaning them up and burying them properly, even in a mass grave, would be an undertaking of days.  The smoke would trail into the sky for many nights .

But how foolish of her to lose herself in thought.  While the rest of them had been assessing the damage , Byleth had stepped into the cathedral with speed and singular purpose, Yuri and Blythe following behind him .  There was a caution in his scent that brimmed atop other emotions, but beyond that, beyond him, there was something more, something like pitch that reminded her of—

No. It couldn’t… it couldn’t be. She mastered herself and followed after them swiftly into the dim of the cathedral where, in the center of the sanctuary, lit only by the rays of light cast through the holes and cracks in the dirtied stained glass a looming figure stood over Adrestian plate and spilled crimson, brandishing a lance of gleaming bone draped in blue.

Flayn stood mute, disbelief and fear filling her. How...? Another revenant to join her cousins? The dead walked  these halls, here to haunt those who had outlived them and carried on . She looked fearfully over to Byleth  whose world would all but stop again if he was seeing the same thing before his own eyes, and her heart clenched to think about how his would still .

But slowly, the living ghost turned to face them, the gaze of a singular glowering eye as  cold as frost levelling over them as he opened his mouth to speak:

  
“I should have known that you would come to haunt me one day as well, Professor. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary, with spoilers: Flayn walks through the ruins of a village near Garreg Mach, looking at the destruction her aunt wreaked. She speaks briefly with Blythe, Byleth and Claude. They arrive at the monastery, and encounter a lot of dead, left unburied. They survey the wreckage, Flayn pained at the senseless loss of life. She returns to her room, looking for her lost hair pins which were a gift from her mother and finds them. She muses on how without Rhea there, Garreg Mach is a shadow of itself, and that whether people were there or not was irrelevant: Garreg Mach as she knew it was no more.
> 
> She finds the twins at the bridge where they fell. She attempts to console them, but is interrupted by Yuri. He and Byleth share a charged moment, Flayn clearly sensing their interest in one another. When Claude arrives, she notices his feelings for the twins as well. She swears to speak to them privately and assess their intents with her cousins. The group flies over the chasm on Somayeh's back, and they enter the cathedral. They find Dimitri, in all of his grim glory.
> 
> \---
> 
> now for the actual end notes! Another chapter down! You didn't really think we'd killed him, did you? Heehee. As ever, we solicit comments and kudos! They are like delicious little bursts of serotonin for us. Or dopamine. One of the good chemicals. Point is, we like them!
> 
> And we also like hearing from you! We have an 18+ server for Viridian Stars where all are welcome, assuming you meet the age threshold. Come say hi! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm We even have deleted scenes you can read, if you want to be a Viridian Stars completionist!


	38. A Bit of Privacy for Brother Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe is encouraged to give her brother some privacy. She spends the time as well as she knows how.

“Empty” is not something the mind can comprehend.

It can understand “hollow” for how the sound of a lid reverberates against a jar whose contents have been depleted. It can understand “dark” for how the sunlight cannot penetrate against the farthest reaches of a cavern, imploring to explore the other wall. It can understand “deep” for how a stone sinks below the waters of the ocean as the waves break against a cliff. It can also understand “vast” when the eyes are turned up toward the heavens and their infinite splendor.

There is always something.

There is never  _ nothing _ .

But neither “hollow” nor “dark,” “deep” nor “vast” describe what Blythe could smell from her brother, for his scent was simply not there. It was like he’d vanished from every sense except for sight, and even that wasn’t something she trusted for how he didn’t seem to move with the idleness of something alive. His hair didn’t dance in the breeze, the light didn’t shine in his eyes, he didn’t breathe… He was  _ empty _ ,  and where her brother should have been there was only an absence.

His world had skidded to a halt while it continued to spin for everyone around him.

...Until it took off again all at once, his scent returning like a flood down a mountainside, uprooting trees in its cascade down.

“Dimitri,” he said, the word carried by a breath as though he could scarcely believe his eyes, fearing that his mind was playing with his hopes only to dash them. ...Or, perhaps, rather that he feared disrupting the tension around him beyond the gentle stirring of the air that kept the motes of dust aloft in beams of sunlight that shone down from the openings in the cathedral roof.

Beams of light, she noticed, that did not reach the spectre before them.

“ _ Dimitri _ ,” Byleth said again in a way that Blythe thought his voice might break as he stepped forward towards him, extending a hesitant hand out, whether to test his vision or  give  comfort, she couldn’t say.

The prince, though, did not take it, instead turning his baleful eye down on him.

“I wonder what it is you would ask of me. What is the price of this failure,  among all the others? What more would you have me offer ?” he said in a low voice, gravelly from disuse, and as he took a step closer in turn, Blythe could see all that five years’ worth of hardship had wrought on him:

His armor had ruts and dents and had rusted in places where the protective finish had rubbed off or where blood had eaten away at it, be it his or from whatever hapless Adrestian soldiers had had the misfortune of crossing paths with him. The golden hair from his past life had grown long and unkempt, even matting in places where he’d slept on it, which, given the dark rings forming on his face, seemed a rare occurrence .

The sight was such a far cry from the storybook prince he’d been at the academy, in fact, that without the heavy blue cape he wore over his shoulders, Blythe doubted she’d have recognized him before drawing her sword.

But… his eye, his sole blue eye, had her worrying most of all, if only for Byleth’s sake. She knew him, she knew he’d be asking what and why while his mind went through every nightmare it could conjure in search for the answer.

The blue  her brother had so easily  gotten lost in before would haunt him and swallow him whole,  now .

“Would you have me kill, like the rest  of them ?” Dimitri asked, the scent of pitch wafting off him like smoke. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and the fear only heightened when his hand tightened on his lance. It seemed to glow in response to some sentiment that she could guess at.

He made no move to brandish it beyond that, though, almost as if gripping it had become a constant in his life. She shuddered to think of how many Adrestians he had come across and left for the crows  to have ingrained such an instinct into him .

A sigh escaped his lips. “There are never enough. There never will be,” he said, looking downward. Then his hand tightened further on the lance, setting the stone at the head ablaze with the color of fire. “Not while that traitor on the throne still draws breath.”

Blythe opened her mouth to retaliate, to defend her student’s honor, but Byleth, it seemed, had found his way back to himself and beat her to the punch, saying, “I would never ask that of you.”

“Then what  _ would  _ you ask of me?!” Dimitri shouted, his voice booming through the cathedral in a way that never would have happened when it still saw its faithful. “What else would you have me do than to give you her head! Does my failure not lie in not having stopped her?”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to. That’s why we stopped you,” Byleth said, his voice edging on pleading, his  hand half-extended as if to reach for this man who wore his love’s skin.

Pitch and bad tea… she turned, looking Claude in the eyes, even as he looked at her apologetically. No words were shared, but he put his hand on her shoulder meaningfully.

She had to fight the urge to shake it off. Her brother needed her. This was a dangerous moment, she… so he wanted to kill Edel—  _ her _ . So what? They all did now , she supposed, what with the war and all . At least he was honest. She’d already chosen her side, and so had Edelgard.  They were all living with it now.

She looked over at Flayn, who was watching with gleaming, inhuman eyes, still as a statue. Maybe… it would be best if she didn’t hear this all the same. For their sake. If she didn’t hear, she couldn’t let it fester. If she was far away, they could be honest. Her heart ached for… many reasons. Perhaps it would be best if she didn’t allow herself to become involved in this way, as much as she wanted to be there for her brother.

“Hey, let’s go take a walk,” Claude said next to her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

She nodded and  allowed Claude to walk her back outside, back near the bridge , in the chill of the alpine air.

His hands held firm and steady against her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes. His scent was mysterious, incense and tea that was not quite so stale , with  green eyes wide and questioning , and with a low, level voice, he asked  “Are you okay, Blythe?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me when Byleth’s the one who just had his love come back from the dead,” she answered dismissively, voice deadpan as she  felt an undercurrent of… something running through her at the thought.

“I know, but that’s not what I asked. You were… pretty wild, on the battlefield, Teach. This has all been a lot, and it’s just getting crazier , so lemme ask again:  Are you okay?” he said, so painfully sincere that  she didn’t have it in her to be insulted as she felt she should.

Blythe took in a breath, tasting the incense and amber that were Claude to her, still unchanged after all these years. “I’m… fine. I’ll follow orders. I can deal with this. I just need time,” she ground out almost petulantly. She refused to let herself be coddled like a child because of a bad break-up of all things.

Claude sighed, hands still on her shoulders. “Okay, okay. You know yourself better than anyone , so  if you say so, I believe you,” he breathed, and despite herself, she believed him too. The way he looked at her, with those forest green eyes… she trusted him.   
  
“But if I can help, you gotta tell me, okay? Let me make up for all those extra lessons, ” he asked, a nervous smile coming upon him. “They’re probably gonna be doing all that for a while, so why don’t we go and see what’s still good in Garreg Mach? I bet if  we’re the ones who find out the baths still work , we’ll get to be the first to use them!”

Blythe rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “Whatever you say, Claude. Lead the way, O Grand Duke in waiting.”

“Well, when you say it like that, I might as well give you the full hour,” he chuckled, extending his arm for her to take, which brought a smile to her lips.

She still remembered that day they’d looked out over the battlements as the afternoon sun bathed the land in gold. She remembered how he’d known just what to say to her, how he had been so sweet and sincere… how she and her brother had both agreed to leave Claude _alone_ , for his own sake. 

“Perhaps I should just check on my old room,” she said, brushing a stray seafoam lock out of her eyes. “But thank you.”

But she looped her arm around his anyway.

“As long as it’s your palace and not mine. My room’s still a mess,” Claude said with a mischievous smile tugging at his mouth as the two of them headed on their way.

The path that took them past the officers’ academy was one that Blythe had avoided taking when they had first arrived. She hadn’t felt ready, still didn’t feel ready, so she averted her eyes, the old wound still fresh, it seemed, for how tender it was.

It would be fine, though. She’d be fine. She’d make sure.

Eyeing the sauna and bathhouse, though,she noticed that perhaps they’d need to call in an engineer before any of them were washing the grime off in hot or fresh water. Not in anything deeper than a bucket, anyway. At least her brother had more pressing issues now.

She’d admonish herself later for the small smile it brought to her lips, but for now, she’d allow herself to indulge in the bit of pleasure, even at his expense. They continued on.

“I gotta say,” Claude began as they stood in the doorway to her old room, “I’m surprised your beds are still stacked. Like, at all. I mean, it should have collapsed before midterms, so color me impressed.”

“At least I know where we’ll be sleeping,” Blythe said, biting down a petulant  _ or at least where I hope we’ll be _ . “I’m sorry that it appears as though a trebuchet got the better of your room, though.”

“Nah,” Claude replied, waving her off. “I still have a tent and stuff, along with a bunch of people to set it up for me. Perks of being the first in line for the Grand Dukedom and all that. Also I won’t have to return all those books to the library. ...Well, not until it’s all repaired, anyway.”

“How long would it take for a builder to arrive?” Blythe asked as she set down the bag of things she’d brought: a change of clothes, a whetstone, bandages, a hairbrush, nothing too important. Just things she carried by virtue of being a sellsword. She’d retrieve her brother’s pack later.

“I don’t know,” Claude said, scratching at his jaw. “The troops can start picking up rubble immediately, but they’re going to need somewhere to stay and it needs to be defensible, so I hope it won’t take too long. The Knights of Seiros will probably want in on that, so I’ll need to send them a letter. And after today, I think the resistance in Faerghus will probably want to know what we found…”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Blythe said with a commiserate hum.

“Yeah, it is,” Claude replied with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “It all is. I should get started on that now that you and the war prisoners are squared away.”

“War prisoners?” Blythe repeated, blinking. “So Ferdinand’s not staying in the caravan?”

“I said he could go wherever you did, didn’t I?” Claude replied with a gentle smile that made her jaded heart feel like something delicate and fragile. “...Besides, a cell is, like, way more secure and harder to break out of without someone noticing.”

Unsure how to respond with the knot of complicated emotions in her chest, she could only nod. “Right. I’ll go… check on the prisoners, then,” she managed despite her tight throat,  knowing she had failed at sounding nonchalant.

Claude smiled and pat her on the shoulder.   
  
“Sure thing. You talk his ear off, okay? But if you ever wanna talk someone else’s off, my tent’s  open, okay?” he said, again in that soft, gentle tone that made  her heart clench and trace over the scars Edelgard had left there.   
  
“...Thank you, Claude,” she said softly, taking his hand between both of her own, pressing it up to her cheek with closed eyes.  “I appreciate it.”

Then  with no further words, she dropped his hand and left.

The cell block was untouched, to her pleasure. It made sense , as  it was partially underground and remote besides. Ferdinand was alone,  sitting quietly in the near-dark where only a sliver of light filtering in from one of the narrow window slits that allowed it. It was all much  too dark for someone with human eyes.   
  
“Ferdie...?” she called softly, stepping in front of his cell.

She was happy to see him perk up and rise from the cot where he’d been laying.   
  
“Professor,” he answered, offering nothing more as he stared  at what would have been simply her outline. She nearly kicked herself.   
  
“Forgive me, I forgot to light a torch. Allow me,” she managed, rushing off to check one of the sconces and lighting it  with a quick flare of magic. She turned back to him, fearful upon seeing the intense look in his eyes.   
  
“I still can’t believe you changed your hair.  But then, you came back from the dead , so  perhaps my priorities are skewed,” he murmured, idly twisting a lock of his own lustrous hair.

“I… didn’t really have a choice, for either of those things,” she said as she sat  down on the floor. “How… how is everyone? I know  you didn’t want to talk in the main camp before, but…”   
  
“As well as can be hoped for, Professor,” he sighed. “The war has been long. We’ve had no choice but to survive, whatever that means.”

Blythe could only nod at that, staring down at the floor as she kicked at a piece of rubble.  “I… I see. I’m sorry,” she managed, unsure what to say.   
  
Ferdinand sighed again, running his hand through his hair. “Forgive me. That was perhaps not fair of me.  But I have to ask, Professor: Where  _ were _ you?” he asked, leveling his amber eyes at her. “Leaving aside who you served,  with the both of you fighting,  this war could have been over years ago if Gloucester proved anything. Why would you hide?”   
  
“I—I didn’t!” she objected, her hands grabbing the bars. “I… when I fell, I… I was unconscious.  We were asleep for so long, and  we’ve only been awake for a bit over a week, now, I… I would never have just  _ left  _ you …”

“...I see. Well, you’ve made your allegiances clear, which I’d prefer not to get into . But  if you’ve truly been gone for so long, I can at least give you a bit of information,” he said, tone flat and business-like as though  he was expecting to barter it for  his life.   
  
She shook her head in denial. “I don’t need information, Ferdie—  _ Ferdinand _ . I… I just wanted to know if the Eagles were alright,” she managed, voice soft and sad . “They  _ are _ , aren’t they ?”

Ferdinand said nothing for a long moment, long enough she felt a knot of fear forming in her belly. “We’re all alive, at least. I can’t claim to have up-to-the-minute knowledge of my comrades , as it’s  been a long time and we’ve all been busy with the war.”   
  
Blythe nodded, looking down . “Oh.  Um, of course. Yes. I… I’m still wrapping my mind around that. So… what have you been up to, then? You led an important push, so you must rank rather highly,”  she said, praying that a bit of praise might soften the edges he seemed to have formed regarding her old teacher.

He gave a wan smile. “Well, getting routed by you isn’t going to be helping with that,” he said, tone self-deprecating. “I was, though, the Emperor’s left hand. When a fight simply  _ had  _ to be won, that’s where I would be.”

Ah, that forbidden word, the one she’d wanted to ask after bu t hadn’t dared.  “I see. Well, no general is without a loss or two. I’m sure your record is sterling, and she — your superior would understand the extenuating circumstances.”

Ferdinand gave a soft harrumph. “Edelgard told me about you two,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t turned her chest into a block of ice with six words.   
  
“Wh-what?” she asked, desperately playing for time. “What do you mean?”

He laughed, almost cruelly. 

“About how you two were together back in Garreg Mach, of course. She’s still torn up about it, you know. I’d bet you could have anything you wanted if you went back to her,” he said, something bitter in his voice, in his scent. The roses wilted. He smelled like withered  plants, like piles of dead leaves teetering on the edge of rot.

She bit her lip, pained. “...She betrayed me, Ferdinand. She used me, betrayed my family. How… what could she possibly offer me to make things right?” she asked, slit eyes looking up at him. “Is there such a thing?”   
  
Ferdinand coughed discreetly into his hand. “...You make a good point,” he admitted, chagrined. “But it is true all the same. She would.”   
  
Blythe scoffed. “You’re telling me she misses me? She turned her back on me and left me and my family  to die. What a laugh ,” she challenged, feeling her blood heat despite herself as she gripped  the bars of the cell so tightly they creaked. “I don’t ask for much, Ferdinand, but murdering my kin and starting a war that spans the continent is not something I’m interested in abiding. I know you have responsibilities to your own  family, all of the Eagles do, but I’m different. My allegiances lay with Garreg Mach, which, if you didn’t notice, is a shattered ruin because of her.”

Ferdinand was silent, looking thoughtful, perhaps digesting her outburst , but  she was not terribly concerned with his feelings if he was going to insist  on making such impertinent observations.  She’d taught him better.

“She refuses to hear anyone speak of you ,” he said after a moment. “She bade  all of us to never speak of you in her presence. It’s changed her.  I may not be Hubert, but I believe that despite herself, she felt something . She  likely still does.”

It made her blood boil.

“Oh, stuff it, Ferdinand. What do you know?” she spat, her eyes stinging.  “She made her choice and left  me behind.  _ She  _ left  _ me _ . I don’t care if she feels  _ bad _ about it, she shouldn’t have done it! She shouldn’t have done  _ any  _ of this!”

She had shouted  this time, standing and waving an arm out expansively.   
  
“She put you in this cage, Ferdinand. She made me your captor when  I should have been your professor. I should have been able to care for you all, we should be having evening tea in the gardens. I should be seeing my Eagles, I should be able to care for them , but  now I have to watch over you in a damned  _ cell _ , worrying if the next person I fight is one of my students!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the cell block. She’d started breathing heavily at some point, and Ferdinand simply stared at her with intelligent eyes, dissecting her where she stood.

“It is not my place to judge my Emperor,” he began in a soft voice.  “Only to follow. In times of war, the Prime Minister must pull back and let the Emperor prosecute the war. What you’ve said is true — I’ve thought those same thoughts, too — so  I won’t judge you for your thoughts and feelings , as  it’s not my place. I am just a soldier. You and Edelgard… I can’t claim to understand it. Not at all,” he spoke, before stopping himself, eyes growing hazy, scent softening, roses and champagne.

“...No, perhaps I have some idea. Love and duty are awkward bedfellows. Hubert and I… well. An Emperor’s hands are not usually so close, and I can’t find myself regretting it. But Edelgard, despite what you may think, did not become a demon over the course of these five years. For good or ill, Professor, you would do well to remember that, and gird yourself accordingly.”

Blythe could only deflate at his words , incisive despite their charity.  She found she  wanted to cry.

Her sweet Ferdinand had grown up. He had seen down to her core  and had given her words she didn’t know she’d  needed to hear. She didn’t know how Ferdinand, the blustering, forceful boy who’d desperately wanted to be acknowledged had come to become such an erudite, attentive man as this, completely capable of ignoring his own interests for the sake of another.

He’d grown, even found love, and she’d missed all of it.

Why couldn’t he have stayed young and innocent? Why did her sweet Ferdie have to be forced to become a man, one with pain in his eyes and the ability to see  it in others?

“Ferdie… What happened to you?” she whispered,  eyes gleaming with hidden pain, hidden guilt laid bare there in the torchlight.

Ferdinand smiled, humorless. “War changes you, Professor. You taught us that in one of your very first lectures. I imagine that you had hoped we’d never use your lessons as they were meant to be used… but the world rarely accounts for the wishes of those living in it.”

Blythe had to stifle a humorless bark of laughter of her own. She’d said much the same thing to them back then, too. Years, days, an  _ eternity  _ ago.

“You’re  right. I never wanted this for you or anyone else,” she managed, leaning against the bars , suddenly  too exhausted to stand of her own power , and then  slipped one of her hands through the bars. “If I slept for five years, Ferdinand... why am I so  _ tired? _ ” 

Ferdinand stood from his cot and walked to where she stood, grasping her hand firmly in his own and lifting some invisible weight off her shoulders. “Because things were better back then, and we can’t ever go back ,” he said, his words both gentle and cutting to her heart all at once. “I’m so  sorry, Professor. It must be a rude awakening indeed.”

She rested her head against the bars, eyes closed. All she could stand to do at the moment was cherish the feeling of his warm hands on her own. “...Yeah . It is. ”

He seemed to have other plans, though, as he let her go and placed a hand on her cheek. “You should go back. You all probably have work to do. You’ll be missed ,” he said, brushing his thumb on her cheek in a way that threatened to release a flood.

But then a more genuine smile spread on his face.  “Besides. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“...Yeah,” she said, slowly pulling back and stifling a sniffle.  “Thank you for this, Ferdinand. I’ll make sure a guard comes by with dinner and that  you’re not left in the dark during the daytime.”

“Well, I should hope so. I am a noble prisoner, after all. I have certain rights and expectations!” he said, putting on a haughty echo of the boy  she remembered , bringing a smile back to her lips.   
  
“Of course, Lord Aegir, as you say,” she said, offering him a mock bow. “Goodbye.”

Her footsteps were loud in her ears as she climbed the steps back into the afternoon sun .

Ferdinand was right, of course. But standing there, no sign of Byleth, or Claude, or Seteth, or anyone… she felt as if she had been set adrift. Without really thinking, her legs moved. One step, then another, through the ruins of her life.

When she came to, she found herself in front of the Black Eagles classroom.  She’d already been to her room, but this was her second home. While the years and the war had been unkind to the monastery and the academy,  the banner for the Black Eagles still hung proudly, red and black. Like the enemy . But  she didn’t have the heart to take it down.

Finally, she walked through the door and stared at the empty room before her. There were  no students, no lessons to come, no papers to grade , but there on her desk,  the place where Edelgard had first kissed her , was her journal, long forgotten but still open and waiting.  She skimmed over the notes she’d made and turned  the page, finding it blank.

Before she realized what she was doing , she’d taken  a seat. Her inkwell was still there safely seated alongside  her quill where it always had been, beckoning her to mark the page.

No one could know what she felt. Not Ferdinand, not the pack, not even  her brother. No one could know how deeply Ferdinand’s words had impacted her, how Edelgard tortured her still.

So she dipped her quill into the well and began to write mindlessly. She wrote words on words and found some queer peace in the act. Here she could try to begin unknotting the snarl of pain Edelgard had left her with , here  she could be frank and not have to worry after anyone’s feelings, or insulting anyone, or justifying herself.

No one came to look for her. The sun set, and still she wrote until finally she felt like she could write no more. She looked down at the pile she’d written. More than a few pages. Carefully, she excised them from the journal, dumping them into the waste bin. Despite it all, she truly did feel a bit lighter, like maybe she truly could afford to lend her brother her ear and pay attention like he deserved and needed. 

Perhaps they would even have peaceful sleep together for the first time since the fall, one filled with dreams that allowed them to face the nightmare they’d both woken up to.

Perhaps she could feel something besides empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for read, as always Comments and kudos are ever appreciated. Do consider joining our Discord! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm We have fun tidbits, like cut scenes and even some (noncanonical) smut I, Xima was made to write to tide some of the randier fans we have over, heehee. 6000 words of it.


	39. Civil Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt has a really long day, but he's glad for it.

Jeralt had seen the sun rise and set many times in his life.

Entirely too many, if anyone were asking. He’d seen it so many times, he’d stopped counting, so he couldn’t be blamed if he hadn’t been able to start again, even for the two suns or… greatest days or whatever. Metaphors weren’t his specialty in life, so kill him.

Garreg Mach had seen a lot more of those days, though, and better ones at that, but something told him as he was riding up with his entourage of knights that these past five years’ full had been some of the worst for the both of them. Perhaps it was all the scaffolding or the piles of bricks everywhere, but it had looked… worse, he guessed. At least there were people in it again.

He and his knights had stayed around the ruins whenever they’d passed through, but never so close that they’d get unwanted attention from Adrestian patrols or scouting parties. Better to risk stupid bandits or even beasts than red banners or ghosts. Imagined or otherwise.

It was good to see actual people in the walls again, though, made it seem like the monastery was alive again, even if everyone had a weapon strapped to their belts and could mobilize at the sound of a horn or bell. (Provided they still had one.) Not that that was too far off from how it had been or anything, and a soldier was a temporary occupation for the most part. Many of the people moving rubble, running drills, or helping rebuild had other skills and jobs they’d left behind when called to service in one form or another. Some of them were cooks, tailors, or blacksmiths who would be providing more than their sword arms and pulling double shifts for the cause. Not everyone reached for the sword for coin. Not everyone should.

He wondered if his kids would have been spared the fall if they’d lived a quieter life.

No. That kind of thinking wouldn’t help him. He should be glad Rhea’s spymaster had found them in the canyon and that her right hand had seen to watching over them as they slept.

“You know, I’ve noticed we’ve been having an early frost this year, but I didn’t think you would’ve been stopped by a snowed-in pass or anything just yet,” a voice called from somewhere to his right.

Gah, speak of the devil.

He turned to see Yuri leaning against the post of the stables where he and his knights had tied their destriers’ heads before turning in for the night.

The investigative gaze of any agent was hard to miss to the trained eye. Yuri looked him over with the practiced instinct of the best of them, searching for any small details that would be a tell for more than Jeralt could potentially share. “I would’ve expected you a lot sooner.”

“Had to take the long way around,” Jeralt said, letting Yuri discern what he could from his words as he fell into step next to him. “Adrestian scout patrols have been more frequent along the border, and I didn’t want to risk us getting spotted.”

Yuri let out a sigh that sounded too weary to be theatrical. “Tell me about it. They’ve been getting a little too close for my liking ever since they started going  _ missing _ . It’s taken my people everything they have to throw them off our trail before we’re defensible.”

“If we can hold out ‘til first snow, they’ll go back to their barracks and only send out skeleton crews. Then we can spend the winter getting ready for their forays in the spring,” Jeralt said as they made their way up to the archbishop’s audience chambers.

“Here’s hoping they think we’re just a punchy bandit clan until then,” Yuri said with a scoff.  “Wouldn’t have been too far from the truth, until our most recent visitors decided to get  _ comfortable _ .”

Jeralt bit back a bitter snipe there. He knew damn well if he didn’t get to talk to his kids the moment it was possible, heads were gonna roll. So, all he said was, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”   
  
They walked for a time in silence, neither volunteering any information in an uneasy détente , not to mention potential prying ears. He’d lived long enough to know that getting too comfortable in any place was a danger in ways beyond the obvious. One right thing in the wrong ears, and they were sunk.  He knew how spies played the game, and he could play ball too, so the only sound as they walked through the monastery was the crunch of the early frost.

Their silence lasted until they walked into the hushed audience chamber.   
  
“Jeralt!” Seteth called , his eyes flicking up at their footsteps.  “You’re finally here. Were you alright? What delayed you?” It made Jeralt chuckle a bit to himself.  He hadn’t met anyone who mother-henned half as well as Seteth did.

“We’re all fine. Just had to dodge some Adrestian patrols, nothing new. The disappearances have them on edge,” he said half-heartedly. “Seteth, where’re my kids ?”

Seteth’s lips thinned at that, but he nodded.   
  
“They’re occupied at the moment,” he answered, a strain of true regret in his voice. “I’ll clear their schedules for the evening, but Byleth is doing...  _ bureaucratic  _ work that can’t be ignored, and Blythe is helping with the repair effort.”

Jeralt quirked an eyebrow. “Bureaucratic? You’ve got my boy doing paperwork?”   
  
Seteth nodded. “Byleth has been a great help in all matters regarding the running of the monastery. Invaluable, even , when he’s not attending to other matters.  I had no idea he had such a head for numbers!”

  
“Yeah, he’s… he’s pretty good with those,” he admitted. “Kid would sit on my knee and watch me do payroll. Said it was _ ‘engaging’  _ or something.”   
  
Couldn’t say he was surprised Byleth was making himself important.  He was made for command. Thing was, though, he was also the kind of person to overwork himself. Hopefully Blythe had been keeping an eye on him. She was always a better lieutenant , preferring to be along the front to see for herself.  She kept her troops in better shape for people like her brother to send them off into the meat grinder and do what they had to do.

“That’s great and all, glad to see you both catching up, but don’t we have some actual business to get to?” inquired Yuri with a smile that kind of made him want to knock it off his face.

“You’re right,” Seteth said with a sigh as he straightened his shoulders. “As much as I would prefer catching up with you, Jeralt, we should talk about what you’ve seen  so we can sort how best to proceed.”

He knew that tone, though. Work to do, business to sort. His kids would have to wait. So he let out a breath of his own and let his shoulders sag in a stark contrast and put a hand to the back of his neck.  “Yeah… yeah. Where do I begin?”

“Anything on Rhea?” Seteth asked as he crossed his arms in some effort to appear in control of the situation but failing since his brows were pursed with worry.

“Can’t say I do,” Jeralt answered, shaking his head. “There wasn’t anything to go off on our side of the lines, let alone near the border.”

“Hm, from what Catherine writes, there’s not much to go off of in Faerghus,” Seteth said with a sigh.

“Nothing substantial from Enbarr, either,” Yuri added as he leaned against the stone wall. “But Shamir says she can’t get close enough to look without garnering some scrutiny of her own.”

Jeralt hummed. “That’s probably for the best. There were enough people at the Academy and within the knights that she could be recognized, even if being Dagdan grants her some anonymity. Don’t want her compromised.”

“Nothing to be learned until we stop this war, then, I suppose,” Seteth said, taking a seat at the desk he’d managed to free from the rubble of his old side office. Definitely something to take care of soon before the chill got any worse than it already was. Damned winter couldn’t even wait for fall to make a graceful exit before billowing in with all its fluffy white bullshit.

Ugh, there was so much left to do and so little time for them to get it done.

Seteth drummed his fingers against the surface of the wood, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, before he stopped. “What of the beasts, then? Have we been able to pinpoint their origin?”

“Well…” Jeralt began as he scratched at his chin, “I can’t say anywhere specific, but I have made an observation, I guess.”

“Oh?” Yuri said, his eyebrows arched.

“We tend to find them in more remote areas, like villages or the occasional farmstead, places like that. Especially ones that are quieter,” Jeralt said as he leaned over the map on the desk. “Like here in Gaspard territory. Earlier last year when we were using the Western Church’s barracks as a base of operations, we got word of some activity in the mountains. We suspected Adrestian troops, but when we got there, we found a bunch of those beasts. We tried looking around the region after and didn’t find much, but what we  _ did  _ find was a deserted farming settlement farther up the slopes.”

“Maybe they were driven out by someone else?” Seteth offered, his hand at his chin as he thought.

“I don’t think so,” Jeralt answered, shaking his head. “There weren’t any signs of a struggle or any disasters or anything like that.”

“Famine?” Yuri suggested.

Jeralt shook his head again. “The storehouses and granaries were full.”

“Perhaps… it was another Remire, then,” Seteth said gravely as he closed his eyes. “How many now does that make?”

“Who knows,” Yuri said. “I can ask around Abyss and see if anyone’s been in contact with other small places. Maybe we can catch the ones doing it before they can take any more.”

_ Catch again _ , Jeralt thought, but kept to himself.

“Perhaps after the war meeting,” Seteth said before standing back up and brushing the dust off his lap.

“War meeting?” Jeralt repeated, feeling the ride’s toll on him suddenly. “Right now?”

“Yes, very shortly,” Seteth replied. Then he looked off in the direction of the old offices and added, “...Circumstances permitting.”

“Here’s hoping we’re not short one miracle,” Yuri said as the three of them left for the cardinals’ chamber.

Hells. He ran a hand through his hair to stifle  his annoyance. This was not at all what he was interested in dealing with. He was cold, and tired, and didn’t have half the patience necessary to deal with the simpering that usually happened at war councils that weren’t on the field where things were actually happening.

The walk was an uncomfortable one, through partially-rebuilt halls mired with scaffolding and supplies, more reminders of how far the monastery had fallen, along with the knights. He was glad Catherine wasn’t around to see this. She’d have been heartbroken, probably spent the night at the cathedral’s altar praying.

Seteth opened the double-doors to the cardinals’ chambers, mercifully still in one piece. The massive forum that used to be where the presiding clerical higher-ups would discuss matters worthy of their and Rhea’s attention stood in relatively good repair, for which he was thankful. He’d spent more than a few boring days standing guard during their meetings and a few more explaining what he’d been doing to them all once he’d been made Knight-Captain. The least this damn room could do was keep the draft away. At least Riegan seemed comfortable, chatting up his son at his desk.

His son. His beautiful son sat at the Archbishop’s desk, trying to ignore the other man before looking over at him, shock and surprise on his face, his eyes so wide, and green, and… not like he remembered.    
  
His son had blue eyes, didn’t he?

“Byleth...?” he breathed, his voice leaving him. It was him. His son, alive, whole, here… Yuri and Seteth had both sent him letters when they’d found him, and they’d kept him apprised and assured him they’d both return to him, but to see him again…

He didn’t think as he stepped briskly down the stairs past his escort towards his son. If they wanted to stop him, well, they could fucking try. But Byleth was already standing up from the desk when he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him roughly into his chest.

His son. His son was safe. He was alive, and he was safe, and nothing in the world mattered past that in this moment.

They didn’t speak, but Byleth wrapped his arms around him in turn, cheek rubbing against his chest almost affectionately, and not a soul bothered them for a long time.

Goddess… he’d buried it deep enough he’d tricked himself into forgetting how much he loved and missed his kids. The things they all did to keep sane.

Slowly, Byleth let his hands fall, and he followed suit, pulling back reluctantly. “...It’s good to see you again,” Byleth said, voice small and soft.   
  
Jeralt couldn’t hold back the smile that slid onto his face. “Me too, kid,” he answered just as softly.

He was thankful that for once Yuri didn’t feel the need to ruin the moment by opening his damn mouth and allowed him to walk back to the group without issue.

In the rear of the chamber he noticed a shock of blonde hair, a hulking man in full armor and an eyepatch. That had to be Blaiddyd , from what they’d told him. He was surprised he was here at all given that, though with how he was glowering right at him with his one eye, he was keen on keeping his distance.

As Byleth took his seat and  righted himself, setting his hair just so and sitting up  straight, just like he’d never had to teach him, Seteth stood up at the head of the table  that marked Rhea’s place. “Friends and allies, we all know why we’re here, so we may as well get to it. Won’t you all take a seat?” he began, his tone firm and serious as he gestured to the rows on rows of chairs at the table, some near the back conspicuously missing, probably used for scrap wood. Blaiddyd glared out at nothing from his seat. 

Without further ado, they took their seats, a bit of distance between them , particularly from Blaiddyd. Seteth took his seat once everyone had gathered ‘round, and privately Jeralt wondered how comfortable the ornate chair that bordered on a throne was, for how stately it made the sitter seem at the head.

“So, we have our Knight-Captain back among us. It’s time to get to business. How do your knights stand?” Seteth asked, and Jeralt cracked his neck in preparation. 

“Well, the fighting’ll be your job,” Jeralt snarked. “The Knights are already spread too thin as it is. Faerghus is a mess under Cornelia, and holding the line with Leicester has been a constant drain. There’s barely a hundred of us left. I can’t risk any more men on scouting expeditions where they could just disappear. Probably best to just keep them near to home for security’s sake.”   
  
“Sir Jeralt makes a valid point. It is good we have the Knights back with us, but we need to remind ourselves of what actually matters : standing against our demise.  We’ve moved into Garreg Mach , but  there’s no need to range out into the far unknowns for information that won’t be of any use to us. We don’t have the resources to capitalize on it,” Seteth stated in firm, measured tones. Gods, the man could drone, but he always had a point.

  
“But we still need a plan,” Riegan said, standing up. “The war’s been going on for years now. All our spies show that Adrestia has been gearing towards a wartime economy for most of that. If we sit back, they  _ will  _ overrun us. So what do we do?”

“We attack,” Blaiddyd growled from his seat in the back, to what Jeralt assumed was the shock of everyone else in the room.   
  
“ _ Attack _ them? How on earth do we do that? We’re divided on two fronts,” Seteth asked.

“Not to mention pushing for Enbarr is suicide as things stand,” Claude added.

“Edelgard needs to die. That’s the only way the war ends. If we don’t work to kill her, this council is pointless,” Blaiddyd growled, like an ass.

“Oh, yeah? How’re we gonna do that, big guy?” Riegan mocked, eyes growing sharp and contemptuous. “Run at Enbarr, sword swinging?”   
  
“If it kills her,” Dimitri grunted petulantly.   
  
“And leave ourselves undefended? How do we protect ourselves from a counterattack, then?” demanded Seteth , and Jeralt found he couldn’t resist groaning. There was a reason Rhea had been the one to make the grander decisions. She had always been more militant in her approaches to pretty much anything presented to her, be it not only in matters with the knights where it pertained more directly but also in day to day policy within the monastery itself. It was as though the woman saw war in every aspect of her life.

“They won’t because  I’ll be there to stop them,” Riegan stated with a bored flip of his hair. “Not that this isn’t a stupid idea, but Faerghus is still holding on , even if on a prayer,  and we’ll be clumping up the way through. If we failed the push we’d be dead anyway, so it’s the same difference.”   
  
This gave Seteth a moment’s pause before he started up again. “...Be that as it may, I’m not interested in discussing ‘stupid ideas’. We’re all busy people.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve had five years to think of something and we’ve got nothing, so unless someone’s got some genius idea, this is a waste of time,” Claude stated bluntly.

Yuri snorted at that, a wan smile on his face. “Well, assassination is an option, but not a  _ good  _ one. You don’t need me  to tell you the Emperor doesn’t take security lightly. The best we can hope to do is find ways to destabilize the Adrestian lines to get them farther back. Use the winter to build some space.”

“Yeah, that I can at least get behind,” Claude seconded, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m thankful as hell the  professors  showed up when they did to save Gloucester, though. If we lost the farmlands and the grain stores, the war would be over. We need to get them away from there because they  _ will  _ try again.”   
  
“ _ Then we attack them, _ ” Blaiddyd added through grit teeth in a way that made Jeralt think he’d snarl and bite at anyone if they got close enough.   
  
“Look, we’ve been over this, that’s suicide. An all-out attack is off the table,” Jeralt said, trying to bring some order back to the discussion. Gods, he could feel the meeting spinning out from under him.   
  
“Surely there’s more we can do,” Seteth said , his voice strained as he slammed his hands against the table.  “Is there no way to dissuade attacks?”

  
“Not really,” Yuri said simply. “We can fortify Garreg Mach — which we  _ should  _ be doing, just by the way — but it’s  just  a stopgap . If and when the lines move, we’ll just be a glorified storehouse.”

“And there is nothing to be done for the West?” asked Seteth. “They’ve been struggling with the worst of all this since the beginning. The land in that region has changed hands between loyalists and Imperial sympathizers a half-dozen times at this point, and the people there are suffering for it. Their grain stores are running low, and what’s left is rotting for how they haven’t been allowed to even seed their fields.”

“I’ve also been getting word that people are starting to get sick again,” Yuri added with a grim expression that Jeralt thought looked foreign on his face. Or perhaps he was seeing under a mask.   
  
“We help them by  _ killing Edelgard! _ ” roared Dimitri with enough volume to make Jeralt lean away.   
  
“ _ Enough! _ ”  came a shout that topped out over the cacophony, making everyone quiet down and turn.

Byleth had stood from his seat and looked back at each of them with a stern brow and something like fire behind the green of his eyes that reminded Jeralt in no small measure of lost company.

“The answer is Arianrhod,” he began, his voice level now that it was the only one carried across the room. “Cornelia is the one causing Faerghus the most grief, keeping the resistance there from reinforcing us, depriving most of the kingdom of food, and thus leaving the south vulnerable to attack. If we can pacify her, we deprive Adrestia of their foreign support and resources. From there, we can help  Faerghus’s houses form a proper host, and  united  we can march straight on to Enbarr, cutting through Adrestian land the whole way.”

There were a few long beats of silence, then, before Seteth spoke up, almost regretfully. “Cornelia is sitting on the throne in  _ Fhirdiad _ , and before we can get to her, we’d have to go through  the stoutest fort on the continent , mind you.  We may have you and your sister, Byleth, but there’s a reason we haven’t been able to unseat her. Not to mention the fact that Adrestia could be at our walls again once troops have moved out.”

“You say that like they aren’t capable of making miracles happen,” Riegan warned seriously.  “We’ve looked at more hopeless situations before, so  maybe we  can do something.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Claude, but we  _ will _ be needing assistance,” stated Byleth . “While  the route proved more successful than I thought it would, it appears Aegir was more important than it appeared to have them respond so strongly . They’re retreating, which means they  _ will  _ come back with a larger force, so we’ll need you to stay behind and hold the fort until we come back.”   
  
“Wait, I’m doing what now?” Claude said , eyes wide  in alarm, at the same time as Dimitri stood, eye glinting dangerously, all but crashing his fist into his desk and  making everyone jump.

“This is a waste of time,” he hissed. “All this will end once we’ve killed Edelgard.  Everything else is pointless.”   
  
“I wouldn’t call prioritizing your people and your classmates a waste of time,” Byleth said, but his voice sounded more pained than scolding.

“It’s also the smartest plan I’ve heard yet,” Yuri said with a shrug before he stood up from his seat. “Can’t march to Enbarr if we don’t have enough people to actually make it there. Good job,  _ Your Grace _ . I’ll have my people start working on gathering intel immediately.”

“Well, Judith won’t be happy, but she’s tough . I’ll talk with her and we’ll work on a plan,” Claude said,  hands behind his head.

“...I will serve however is required,” Seteth stated in a tone that Jeralt couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t quite acquiesced or even distant, but perhaps something deeper… 

A surreptitious  glance  to the back of the room  revealed that Blaiddyd was simply staring at Byleth, eye sharp and arms crossed, but not objecting. So… he guessed that was a good sign. Probably.

“So whaddya want me doing, then, By?” he asked seriously.

“You’re going to lead from the front, of course. You’re the Bladebreaker, a legend in your own time. If we want to break Arianrhod _and_ Fhirdiad, we’ll need your help, and I can’t think of anyone else who’s a better leader,” Byleth said like he didn’t just fill his old heart with warm fuzzies at the compliment. It was one thing when Alois doled them out, but Byleth didn’t give them without warranting it.

He’d kept the mercenaries and the kids away from the spotlight, made sure his name wasn’t easy to dig up, because he didn’t want to get dragged into a major conflict, but… if his kids needed him, if Sitri’s family needed him, well… he could make an exception.   
  
He wasn’t gonna stand around and let people put medals on his chest, though. That shit was boring and pointless.

Byleth stood, looking over the lot of them . “Now that we have a direction, we need to gather information so we can march north. We have a fort to claim. Meeting adjourned.”

There was some rustling as everyone stood, preparing to meander off wherever they needed to go, even Blaiddyd . Jeralt stayed behind, though, watching his boy with pride as he looked out over the map they’d brought on the center of the table. He was growing into his own, and he wondered if the boy he’d raised had gone to sleep only to wake up as a man.

Even his gaze carried some weight, and for a moment only, he saw something weary in them before their eyes met and it was gone.

“You should get some rest, Dad. I know the ride in wasn’t easy,” Byleth said.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to get some, either, kiddo,” Jeralt replied.

Byleth shook his head. “I’ve slept enough already. I’m needed more here.”

“If you say so,” Jeralt sighed. He walked over and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Just don’t overdo it, ok?”

“I won't,” Byleth answered, brushing his hand off lightly in favor of a quick hug.

Jeralt ruffled his hair — his  _ green  _ hair — before heading out. He still had a daughter to check on before he could count them all safe and sound and be able to rest well for the first time in five years.

He stepped out of the hall, meandering back outside into the cold. At least the gusts weren’t so bad inside the walls, but out here, soldiers were bustling around, lugging chunks of fallen walls and dumping the unsalvageable pieces down into the ravine. Boring but necessary, he supposed.

He walked along the paths, doing his best not to acknowledge the marks that had clearly been left by a  _ giant fucking dragon _ . Things’d be simpler if he didn’t dive down that rabbit hole, though.  There were a lot in this damn field. Better just to walk.

It was in the wreckage of the greenhouse that he ended up finding her finally, kneeling among the beds and carefully sifting through it to find pieces of glass and debris. 

Of the two,  Blythe had always been more attuned to her body, savoring things like physical labor and training. While her brother read books, she would dance, or train, or lift weights . He supposed  this wasn’t too different.

Something was off, though.  The set of her shoulders was all wrong, hunched and compact, and her hair hung over her face as she leaned over to pluck debris. She was moving not with efficiency but a ponderous slowness, like she was lost in thought and her task was just something to busy her hands. It was  uncommon and worrying coming from his action-focused  daughter.

His steps were quiet, not wanting to scare  her while she was fussing around with glass. The way she tensed slightly told him she’d noticed enough, though.   
  
“Did you want a hand with that?” he asked, voice low and gentle as she whirled around, eyes green and completely blown out , almost completely devouring her iris. That was  about all he got to notice before she wrapped  her arms around him in a vice grip.   
  
“Dad,” she whispered as she nuzzled  almost desperately into his chest, hands scrabbling at the back of his armor as he hugged her in turn.

“Hey, buttercup,” he managed around the knot in his throat. “Welcome back.”

“I missed you,” she squeaked, her own voice almost inaudible over the blowing wind.

He swallowed. “I missed you too,” he said softly. “I missed you very much.”   
  
She didn’t seem like she was gonna be letting go any time soon with the way she’d started shaking as she hid in the crook of his neck, breath choked and hot against his skin.

“Blythe...?” he tried only to be met with a sound he’d never heard from her before — from either of them: a small, choked sob. Then came the wet of tears on his skin, and Jeralt, for all of his worries about how stoic children were, was  suddenly completely out of his depth.   
  
He pulled her closer and ran his hands over her hair  in firm, steady strokes. “Oh, baby, no, I’m here,” he murmured , along with other nonsense he’d heard parents say. Goddess’s tits, he hadn’t been this lost since the first time she’d bled, and even then, she’d been the one learning for them both.

There were times like this, though, where he would be what she needed, even if he didn’t know entirely what that should look like to her. 

“Sweetie, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m not leaving, okay? It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said, over and over as she wracked out sob after sob.

They sat there together amid the rubble and overgrowth  until finally, with a shuddering sigh, she pulled back far enough to look at him with wide eyes dark with tears  that  he tried to wipe away with his clunky, gloved hands.

“Dad,” she said again, looking at him like she was so completely lost. His sweet girl who fell through time, who was betrayed, who’d changed so completely, moaned piteously, face crumpling into despair once more, cuddling against his chest. “Everything is so  _ bad  _ now.”

“Shhh,” he tried, moving to stroking her back. “It’s okay. We can talk all about it, alright? How about we go back to your room and have some tea, huh?” He thanked every star in the sky when she looked up at him with her nearly-black eyes , her  mouth tight but giving him a single sharp nod.

They untangled themselves and stood, but she immediately clamped onto his arm, and he let her lead him along.

For once, he was thankful for the cold. It helped to clear his mind as he processed it all.  His daughter had cried for him. His daughter was in pain, and she cried.

For how it made him feel like a bastard, he was happy for it. When Blythe was eight years old, she broke her arm practicing. He’d been watching the twins at work when Byleth managed to catch her by surprise with a new technique  he’d probably gotten out of the tactics book he’d  gotten  him two towns back.

He’d swung, and Blythe had raised her off hand unthinkingly to block, and  then  a sound like splintering wood echoed loud enough he could hear it all the way from where he’d been running drills.  They’d stood still for a moment, Blythe letting her arm fall limp as she  handed him her practice sword, and  then she’d  walked over and  looked him in the eye, voice steady and without a hint of pain, and said “Daddy, I think my arm broke. Can we go to the medical tent?”   
  
He never forgot that moment. It was probably the first time he’d  truly realized Blythe, and probably Byleth too, were different.  _ Really _ different.

And he was right. Their whole lives, when mercs they cared for were killed or when they took wounds , they’d never cried. Not for  pain or sorrow or joy or anything else. They’d both been so…  _ blank _ .

He loved his kids, he’d die for them in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t lie and say that sometimes his kids didn’t make him wonder if they’d come out wrong, somehow, or if he’d done something to mess them up forever. That was part of being a parent , he supposed, but all the same, knowing his daughter could cry,  _ had _ cried, was a weight off his chest. For all that his kids defied death, had cut through time and space, had become… something that wasn’t quite human anymore, at least their hearts, unbeating as they were, were still human deep down.

His daughter had green hair and slit pupils, his daughter had cried for him. She was still his daughter , just as  his son was his son. He’d do everything he could for them, no matter the fact he felt like a drunk, doddering bear wel l out of the forest  in more ways than one.

With heavy steps, they arrived back at her and her brother’s  room with the dangerous-looking bunk bed  he’d heard about, and distantly, he realized this was the first time he’d  actually  been in his children’s room.

She pulled at one of the twinned desks, taking the chair from the opposite to set up a table of sorts and she began the preparations. Before long, and with a murmured request for him to fill the tea pot from the spigot outside, they had tea in front of them.

It was impressive how quickly she’d seemed to master herself, or obfuscated her pain, at least.  She seemed less despairing now so much as simply exhausted as she poured their cups,  which he could understand.

“So…” Jeralt started, unsure of just how  to begin. “Don’t wanna bore you with small talk. I know you’ve probably got a lot on your mind right now. I might not be able to help, but… maybe I could at least listen?”

Silence reigned  for a long while, which he’d expected, so he took the liberty of freshening her cup when she finally stopped staring into the dregs in her hands.

Finally, she spoke. “I miss Edelgard. I shouldn’t — I know that — but I do,” she murmured, picking up her tea once more , her blank eyes reflecting off the surface of the stale brown tea.

Jeralt gave a weary sigh, staring down into his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Feelings don’t make sense sometimes, and you’ve had to deal with a right fucking mess of them.” 

  
“She… she hurt me so much,” she murmured , her hand tightening around the porcelain.  “I don’t know why. I don’t know how she could lie to me like that. But the worst part is I don’t know why I feel like I could  _ forgive  _ her if she apologized.”

“Because you care about her, kiddo,” he said gently. “Feelings don’t care about facts. Sometimes we bind ourselves so strongly to someone that we can’t ever undo it. I admit you got to that point faster than I’d have imagined, but… well, a lot of things have been changing with you, haven’t they? I get the feeling your eyes ain’t the biggest part.”

A blush burned itself onto her face.. “...Yeah.”

Jeralt raised a hand before she started speaking again.   
  
“It’s okay, Blythe. I don’t need you to explain all of it. It doesn’t matter to me. You’re you, whether you’ve got green hair, blue hair, or any other thing. You’re my daughter first. I don’t understand it, definitely not like Seteth or Rhea would, but I do understand you at least. You’re Blythe. You’re always gonna be my little girl,” he said fondly, miming a soft punch to her chin across the table.

Jeralt felt a lance of horror shoot down his spine as he saw her lower lip quiver, afraid he’d made her cry, before she calmed herself with a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. “Thank you.”   
  
“You don’t need to thank me for that, knucklehead,” he answered, helplessly fond. “I’m your dad. I’ll always be your dad. And I’ll always be in your corner.”

In a blur of motion, she hugged him again, twining into him and nuzzling into his neck in that way she’d adopted. He didn’t think too much of it, but he couldn’t help ribbing her a bit. “What, do I smell or something?”

“Like oiled leather,” she murmured almost dreamily, taking a deep smell. “And clean fur and fresh earth.”

“Wh—really? I took a bath two days ago… I’m sorry sweetie, didn’t realize you could smell that on me,” he apologized awkwardly.   
  
“No, it’s good. That’s just how you smell. Everyone smells different, so now I can always recognize you and find you if I have to,” she said, and from how  her shoulders  sagged with relief, he could tell  she was serious.   
  
“Well… I’m glad, then. Sorry to say you just smell like cloth and a bit of sweat to me,” he said, with an awkward chuckle.

“It’s okay. I love you anyway,” she said cheekily.   
  
“Brat,” he said with all the love he could give.

“Stinky,” she countered just as fondly.

Eventually, she did end up letting him go,  for which he was thankful. Love wasn’t a good supplement to blood flow, and his legs were falling asleep. They finished their tea in companionable silence, and he could almost feel how their talk had calmed her down. 

Once the pot was empty, he knew he’d be the one who had to do it. “Welp… guess I should go check to see if the barracks, or at least my office is in one piece.”   
  
“I don’t know about the barracks, but your office building is stable.  We set up some stairs to get you up there,” Blythe supplied, to his relief.   
  
“Sounds good. Thanks for telling me, kiddo,” he said, ruffling her hair as he stood up. He stood awkwardly for a moment there in his socks and full plate. “Hey,  you know you can always come talk to me, right? About anything.”

A hand found its way onto his shoulder. “I know,” she promised, locking eyes with him. They weren’t weird anymore, but… well, they weren’t weird. They were just his daughter’s eyes. Slowly, he shrugged her hand off and made his way to the door.    
  
“Alright then. If Byleth doesn’t make it back at a reasonable hour, kick his ass for me, yeah? He’s gonna burn himself out, I can feel it,” he said with a final annoyed huff. “See you, kiddo.”

“See you, Dad.”   
  
With that final goodbye, he closed the door. He wanted to lay back against the door and take a breath, but he had the insidious feeling Blythe would know if he did, so he simply walked out into the pre-dusk to look for Seteth. If anyone’d be able to help him set up where he’d sleep it’d be him.

He really should have asked him about that when he got here.

Ah, well. Maybe he could talk him into sharing some whiskey and shooting the shit  like they used to before  Sitri passed . He was always so much more fun  when he wasn’t so buttoned up.  Hell, if Adrestia hadn’t found the reserves, he might even get rid of the whole shirt.  Not that he had a problem with that if it happened.

Might even angle for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! We cut this one close, Thanksgiving ate us, haha. As ever, we thank you for comments or kudos and eagerly solicit them! 
> 
> If you'd like to join our discord and read some Secret Content, like some non-canonical smut Xima wrote, you can join us at our 18+ discord, https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm


	40. Favor for a Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Blythe set out for a high-value target.

Abandoned places nearly by definition are meant to be quiet.

Eerily, blessedly quiet with nothing but the wind, creaky boards, and the occasional skittering of rubble as the only sounds that carry.

Sure, you ran the risk of being buried alive in a pile of bricks that probably predated the last hundred winters, but narrowly escaping death via structural integrities was part of what made it exciting.

Yuri found he missed the adrenaline sometimes.

Especially when the alternative was death by steel in close quarters. But hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem any time soon, what with Abyss’s catacombs being an ever-changing labyrinth that not even he had fully pieced together, and he prided himself on being the one with the most information. That had kept him alive and indispensable.

But shit if it hadn’t been easier to get around before they’d had to collapse the most frequented tunnels. Sure, they could scrounge about the rubble and move it all out of the way, maybe even put what they could back in its place, but there’d be a lot of additional work with what they’d find under all the stone. And there was only so far underground you can bury that.

Some things you just can’t fix. Best just leave them be.  
...Something a certain professor would be remiss not to heed.

He could smell it on him, on the both of them if he’s honest. Both of them were torturing themselves over their perceived failures in an infuriatingly noble act of self-sacrifice, pushing them to break themselves for Yuri’s own cause.

Not that it was just his, or anything. It benefitted more than just him, but just because it served his purposes didn’t mean he liked or wanted to work people to death for his interests, despite the reputation he cultivated. You’re not useful to anyone when you’re six feet under. Or amid the rubble fathoms down.

But he watched all four of those green-haired tryhards working themselves to the bone for the cause, no one more than the professors whose mother had driven his once-benefactor and mentor to madness and seemed to spellbind others just as readily.

His rounds were a matter of routine. He checked the major exits out of Abyss each morning, at the dead of dawn when he went to check the Spymaster’s roost, one of the most notable being the exit through to the catacombs, leading up into the cathedral proper. It was one he’d grown to dread checking, and as he stepped silently up the steps, murmurs turning to shouting.

“You mock my devotion, seek to steer me from my aim at every turn!” growled Dimitri, like an actual animal. “You think me weak, is that not so? Something to be coddled, protected! I am a Blaiddyd! I know my duty.”

Yeesh. Yuri could only wince as he heard the exhaustion in Byleth's voice, the man sapped of energy for lack of sleep.

“That’s not it at all, Dimitri. Don’t you see? We will be doing what you want. We’re going to make it to Enbarr once we have the force to, so please rest. I only think of your health,” he said, his voice cracking from the strain of going at it all night, and not in the fun way. It was painful to hear, and it felt like whoever he’d known Byleth to be before was some sort of dream. Or an ember trying to spark amidst wet ash.

“As ever, Professor, you do not understand. If you can even be called that,” he said, tone snide and cruel. “For one appointed to instruct his students in the ways of war, you seem more keen to run from it.”

There was a pregnant moment when he heard nothing, but could almost sense the pain, imagine the curve of his eyebrows as they crinkled.  
“I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear.  
It was a reprise he’d heard more than once in these eavesdrops. He’d deny it officially, of course, if asked, even if it would have been expected of him to know. He’d made a business for himself out of voyeurism.

But it hurt to hear one of the men he cared about break himself night after night for someone who wouldn’t step over a line in the sand. Byleth could deflect it as well, but the underside of his eyes grew darker and deeper with each sleepless morning that came. The wall would come sooner than he realized.

To think he’d thought dashing when they’d found the chalice. What a farce.

By the time he’d scaled the cathedral and reached the rooftop rookery, he was thankful to at least see a recent arrival from not just Adrestia but from Emil, one of his best agents. He pulled a few torn strips of bacon from his pouch for the occasion, the eager little thing nuzzling into his finger in thanks.

It brought a private smile to his lips. Hapi called him her Yuri-bird, and he had to admit an affinity. They worked hard, kept quiet, and asked for little, and that was something he liked in those he worked with. But the thought only made him turn back to Byleth, and then the smile was gone.

Whatever. They both had more important things to do. At least one of them should actually get something done. He cracked the seal.

He scanned the letter, and tucked it into his coat wordlessly. Fucking hells. Leave it to Emil to make him have to reshuffle his entire board of agents to find someone who could handle a job like that…  
Something was going from Enbarr all the way to Fhirdiad. No telling what, but it was important enough that it was being snuck through the lines in complete anonymity by a small team of skilled agents. Tomas had even signed off on it, the crazy bastard. But to risk so much on one person’s back… Whatever Solon was sending off had to be worth more than a bullion.

He wanted to refer back to his ledger, but he already knew what he’d find: all of his agents with any skill were otherwise occupied or too far away to be called back for something so time-sensitive. He needed someone roving out today, Ideally before the sun rose. The window on this would be tight, and the need was great.

He didn’t like the conclusion he’d already reached for who would be needed to take care of this.

He didn’t want to think too much about what Byleth’s sister was going to be like considering the hell she’d been through. He’d heard she’d been working hard, was competent, but… if she was anything like his brother, she bore too much baggage to risk taking on this kind of job, but he was out of options. It’d be between her and Dimitri, and that was no choice at all.

He sighed. He didn’t really want to, but he had to. He’d start in Abyss.

Yuri, being the wily, handsome, clever man he was, always kept a bag handy for if he had to leave in a hurry with weapons, clothing, nonperishables, currency for each country… He’d kept one like this since he was an urchin, and he’d had to use it more than once. It was good to be prepared.  
He clipped his sword belt on, the weight reassuring for all that Yuri hadn’t had much use for it once they realized Dimitri would brood and stay put if they fed him like a wild animal — a plate by the altar once a day to encourage good behavior.

Gods, he couldn’t stand him. Just completely fell to ruin, and over what? A betrayal, a few loved ones dying? He was royalty for fuck’s sake. He should be made of sterner stuff than that. 

Why, look at Byleth. His students were thrown to the winds, he’d been lost in time, his aunt was likely dead, his home a ruin, and he was working to set as much as he could right. Perhaps too much. Yuri may not like how he was burning himself out, but he certainly respected his commitment.

Stupid blond animal.

Well, at least treasonous thoughts about the Faerghus royal family would keep him warm as he marched out of the graveyard to seek to rouse the other Eisner at the ass crack of dawn. He’d ask for forgiveness later.

The repairs on the dorms seemed to be going well. It looked like they’d managed to salvage most of the first floor and a fair portion of the second. He had to give the architect props for the added fireplaces alone. No such luck for the future commoner students that would stay on the first floor, though.

Byleth would just have to freeze as he slept, assuming he would at all. He banged on the twins’ door firmly and waited.

Blythe opened the door shortly after, blank eyes staring past him. “Yuri.”

“Can I come in?” he said without preamble. She let him step inside, but he stayed in the doorway. “Alright, I’m gonna keep this quick. I’ve got intel, something big. I need to go out and intercept a package, but I don’t have anyone available to do it, so it’d be you and me. We’d leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Blythe stood, still in her sleep shirt with those blank eyes that stared past what they saw as she mulled over his brusque words.

“...Fine. Go prepare the horses. I’ll get my pack ready,” she said deadpan before closing the door.

He arrived at the stables around the same time Blythe did, pack slung over her back with that holy sword of hers at her hip.

“You’re quick,” he observed.

“I don’t need much,” she answered.

“If you’re sure,” he answered, tossing a sack he’d filled for her. “We’re heading near the Faerghus border. It’s a high-value target, some kind of valuable item. ...And we’re going to intercept it.”

Blythe stared at him, completely nonplussed. “Okay,” she answered, and nothing else, she grabbed her tack off the wall hooks.

Not one for much talk, then, he supposed. This was going to be a long ride.

“How ya holding up?” he asked breezily as they made their way down from Garreg Mach’s mountainous perch. “Must be pretty weird, waking up like you did.”

“It is what it is, and nothing more,” she said softly. “My family is busy, so I need to be as well.”

That raised a flag or two in his mind, along with his eyebrow. “You need to?”

“I do not understand this fighting, not like the others seem to. So I will serve and trust their interests coincide with my own,” she said, her eyes staring unblinkingly into the dawn.

“Yeah, I guess I could see that,” conceded Yuri. “What are your interests, then? Seems like it’d be simpler to just work towards your own than hope someone else’s will.”

“I do not trust myself to serve their interests as they would mine.”

Well, damn. That hit pretty hard, if he was being honest. She didn’t trust herself to be able to keep her priorities straight. Despite himself, he felt a seed of respect growing in his chest.  
“I think I understand,” he said after a moment. “You led them before, right? The Black Eagles.”

At that she finally shuttered like he thought she might: lips tightening into a frown, bangs suddenly covering her eyes. “...Yes.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Her bangs needed a cut, and they were getting in her eyes if she wasn’t careful. Wouldn’t Seteth or Flayn have done something about that by now? They’re both such fucking hens… his image of Blythe and her place in Garreg Mach was coming together, and he didn’t like what he was seeing.

He reached into a bag and pulled out a strip of cloth before holding it out to her.

Her brow furrowed. “What’s this for?”

“Your bangs,” he replied. “They’ll get in the way otherwise.”

“...Thank you,” she managed, not meeting his eye, more just staring at his horse as she tied it around her head.

“You’re welcome,” he said and found himself meaning it.

They rode on after that at a brisk trot, the horses misting the air before them with each step as the sun rose and chased away the darkness before them. Despite himself he couldn’t help noticing that as time wore on, something in Blythe’s stance seemed to loosen, an invisible tension in her face fading as the sun began to light the way forward.

Perhaps she appreciated a bit of time away from her ghosts in the presence of a stranger. Or close enough, at least. Either way, he was happy to provide. From the scattered bits of conversation, he could sense the softness inherent to her, how she yipped to chase off animals in their path or the way she looked up thoughtfully into the branches overlaid across the sky.

She wasn’t weak, there was no doubt there, the whole of her musculature made it obvious that she was a physical marvel. She could take him easily if it came to blows, but he didn’t think it would come down to it, not only because he was a smart man but because she may not have had it in her. He wouldn’t warrant it.

He doubted that horse had ever had so many fond pats and gentle scritches from a rider in its life. “You trying to butter that horse up for something?”

A fond smile bloomed on her face “She’s working hard, just like us. I can give her a few pets, instead of sitting on her back doing nothing. Also, I don’t have any butter. Stop being ridiculous.”

“It’s an expression,” Yuri countered.

“Yes, a stupid one. Why would buttering someone make them more willing to help you?” she asked, her eyes locking onto him with something other than blank emptiness like he’d seen in the faces of starving urchins.

“Hell, I don’t know, it’s just a saying. People like butter, so if you want someone to do something for you, you bribe them with butter? It’s a thing people say, why do we call horse equipment tack, tell me that!” he countered, trying to keep her attention.

He didn’t know why, but he felt it was important that he did. 

“It’s short for ‘tackle,’” she answered, the smile still in place with her eyes glimmering now that they weren’t dead holes in the world. “You know, like fishing equipment? Why we say tackle for equipment I don’t know, but that’s what tack is from. I asked my brother once.”

Yuri crossed his arms curiously at that. “...Huh. He would know, I guess.” 

They were making good time. If they were lucky, they might actually reach the projected route a bit after nightfall. From there, it’d simply be a matter of finding the escort party.

Blythe, meanwhile, seemed to simply be enjoying nature, if the way she kept raising her head and sniffing at the fresh air was any indication. He never had strong feelings for the smell of forests, never mind in the near-winter like this, but to each their own.

But just like every other long day, the sun set. They were close, now, he realized as they crested a hill. The dark would aid them as they prepped for their ambush.

Then, they waited. In the corner of his eye, Yuri kept getting distracted by the way the dim light of the waning moon seemed to glint off her eyes, making them look luminous, unnatural and beautiful.

Not unlike Rhea’s, he noted.

Blythe’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly. “I smell something,” she said suddenly, her voice tight as her eyes sharpened and she stared off into the woods.

“What is it?” He wasn’t one to pick out much, at least not on the level Blythe seemed to, but he would admit that he generally seemed to have a better nose than those around him ever since that night in his village as a child. But then, everything had seemed to shift after that, hadn’t it? And now that he put his mind to it, he did smell something… summery, plant smells that had no business existing in this cold.

It was quite the sight. For a brief moment, Blythe's usually blank face was awash with feeling. Her eyes widened, and something in her expression sobered as she half-lifted from her crouch.  
As the smell grew stronger, Blythe grew tense. Any moment now…

The sound of crunching gravel came down the hill. The kart. With what looked like six people, all dressed smartly, each with swords and bows hidden under travel wear and all on horses save the one guiding them.

“We let them pass, and then we take them out one by one. If anyone runs, you go after them. No loose ends,” he whispered, Blythe nodding slowly. Her hand was on the hilt of her fucked up sword.  
Then, it was just a matter of finding the right moment. With a nod, they both leapt, and with as much silence as he could manage, he landed on the horse’s flank, feet light as his dagger gleamed. The smell of fresh blood filling the air spooked the horse, but that was fine. If he could get two on his side before the rest noticed, that would even the odds enough. He quickly leaped from the horse to the kart, its rider collapsing to the ground in a clatter of mail as he switched to a bow, leveling a shot and taking it in the time it took to take a breath. Straight through the back at twenty paces.

“Attackers!” cried a woman with darker skin and tattoos from the front who by then had turned in response to the commotion. But he was already on the kart’s driver, another red smile filling the air with that scent he’d found so mesmerizing ever since that night long ago.

He unmoored the horses, leaving the kart standing still. It was as good as theirs stranded with the lion’s share of the guards downed. He reached for his bow again and nocked an arrow, but the woman had leaped off her horse and pulled out what looked like some sort of steel whose make he couldn’t recognize.

“Petra!” called Blythe as she ran forward, leaving behind a trail of men that looked more unconscious than dead.

Wait, fuck. Petra? Petra Macneary? Adrestia’s scouting ace? He looked between the two of them, Blythe’s eyes shining and Petra’s sword standing still.

“...Professor?” the woman breathed in disbelief. “Is it really being you?”

The efficient part of him wanted to riddle her with arrows, stop whatever the hell was going on before things got complicated, but he looked at Blythe and the love in her eyes, and, well, even he wasn’t made of stone. He lowered his bow. 

Blythe looked just as disbelieving, her eyes shining in the dark. “You’ve grown so much.”

“I have grown?” Petra echoed, looking around her with animal caution as she inched back to her horse. “You are one to be talking, Professor. You came back from death.”

“Ah-ah,” Yuri called, readying his bow. “Stay where you are and play this carefully, Highness, or Brigid will be short an heir.”

“Yuri!” hissed Blythe. He didn’t grace her with a response, eyes trained on the enemy agent. 

“I would be preferring to live,” Petra answered, hands raising slowly. “What are you wanting?”

Blythe’s face crumpled at that. “For you to be alright,” Blythe said, too honest for her own good. “How are you, Petra?”

She shrugged. “I am living. There is war. I’m being held at bow-point,” she said, a touch sardonic. He fought not to smile.

“I’m sorry,” Blythe all but whispered. “We were… we only want the cargo.”

“I know when I am being beaten, Professor. You can have it,” she said, slowly reaching to her pack, tossing a strange orb towards them.

He nodded but said nothing else, only noting how it seemed to thrum in his palm.

“So... you are joining Leicester I am told, Professor?” Petra asked with forced casualness.

“I serve Garreg Mach, and if that means helping them push Adrestia back, then so be it,” she said softly, staring down at Petra’s feet. “I’m sorry.”  
She huffed. “Do not be sorry, Professor. Your loyalties are your own. And with what Edelgard did… if for no other reason than that, I could not blame you,” she said, bitterness leaching into her voice like a muted growl.

“I… I don’t know, Petra. I hate this fighting, but she isn’t stopping. I can’t let her hurt us again,” she said, clutching an arm to her chest as if to give herself strength. “I don’t understand her. I wish I did, but I don’t. Not anymore. Maybe I never did.”

Then her eyes took on that dead glaze again as Petra reached forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

“She…” Petra had to stop herself, a look of what looked like sincere contrition on her face. “She won’t tell anyone what she is planning, but she has me hunting for things I do not understand, things which have nothing to do with the war. She distrusts Thales and everyone involved with him, but she tolerates them. I have been seeing it in her eyes that she is afraid of him, but I am not knowing the reason why.”

Blythe looked bowled over. Her eyes were wide, her mouth parted, and her hand outstretched but not touching the other woman as if looking for some kind of support. “What do you mean?” 

Petra steadied herself, her face going firm and unyielding as she grabbed Blythe’s hand in both of hers. “She wants this war to end as much as you do, but she is needing help. With Thales.”

Oh, he could use this.

He’d have to get in contact with Hubert, set something up. Maybe he could use Blythe’s softness to their advantage somehow, maybe he could—

“Perhaps if it was you, she would tell the whole truth,” Petra said, pulling him back to reality. 

“What do you mean?” Blythe asked, her eyes glinting with something cautious.

“I could bring you to her,” Petra said as she straightened, still holding Blythe’s hand in hers. “She misses you — all of the Eagles know it — I could bring you to her, and she could tell you how you could help.”

“O...okay,” Blythe said, unblinking.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Yuri chimed in. “It’s a nice fantasy, but there is literally nothing stopping her or any other person along the way from slitting her throat, and I’m not sending one of our aces right into Thales’s hands, Edelgard’s interests or otherwise.”

Blythe’s head whipped around to look at him with burning eyes. “I could stop the war!”

“Yeah, your blood in Thales's experiments will really help with that. If she's scared of him, that means she can't stop him,” Yuri countered, levelling her with a piercing glare that made lesser people cower. “Think with your head, not your heart.”

“If the Professor wishes to see Edelgard, you cannot stop her,” Petra growled, a gimlet eye on him. “Perhaps you should turn back and tell Garreg Mach.”

“Nice try, princess, but you’ll need to make a better threat than that,” he said, a sinister smile crossing his lips. “Say, how’s Bernadetta these days? I hear she’s been having a rough time of it after Aegir got taken captive. I wonder if she’s afraid with all those reinforcements showing up. I hope none of her family’s enemies make good on what they left unfinished when she was a child.”

Petra’s eyes widened as he stepped closer, enough that he was within striking distance.

“Oh, and Dorothea!” Yuri continued, circling around her and letting a hand brush through her hair. “I hear she’s been trying to help her in Aegir’s stead. Do you think the two of them together would be enough to stop Alliance troops from marching, or would they be overrun?”

“You shut your mouth, lie monger,” Petra managed, her voice cracking.

“I’m just concerned. After all, it would be painful to lose them both,” Yuri tutted. “...Or for them to lose you.”

“Yuri, enough! I won’t go, so stop,” Blythe pleaded as she grabbed onto his upper arm with both hands, her nails cutting through his thick coat.

“Good to see you understand,” he replied with a smile that would have read as polite had kinder words been spoken. That was always the trick. Show them just a glimpse of the danger, then hide it again. Make them think the monster was always there, always ready to show itself. “...It’s nothing personal. Just looking out for your best interests.”

“You will pay for this some day, spymaster,” Petra said seriously as she began to walk back towards the bridge. “If it is not me, it will be someone else.”

He bit back a sigh. “I suppose we’ll see.”

With Petra gone, the two of them hitched the horses up to the cart and began their long journey back, the silence hanging over them like a heavy fog and twice as impassable. He’d apologize to her one day when things weren’t as tense and the war was nothing but a memory, but for now, they had their tasks. Better to see them done before tending to personal affairs.

It was all he could hope that she would forgive him for it.

Garreg Mach graced the horizon alongside the following dawn, but this one tugged at his eyelids rather than spurring him forward. No matter. He could sleep when his job was done.

Blythe left him at the stable, heading off to who knew where, and Yuri didn’t have it in him to stop her. She’d need time alone, something he realized he’d forced on her, even if it was what was best for her. He’d let her do whatever made her feel better in the interim. He’d done enough already as it was anyway.

It was time to pawn his problems off on someone else, after all. He had a hunch that Seteth would know what to do with their seized cargo and the stone he held in his hands. Maybe even a few opinions if he was unlucky.

Making his way up the stairs, though, and he was met with another shock of green.

“Professor,” he said, recovering. “Fancy running into you. Or almost, anyway.”

“I was actually looking for you,” Byleth said as he brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

Yuri tilted his head and crocked a smile. “Is this business or pleasure?”

Byleth furtively looked around the corridor before speaking in a low voice. “I need something delivered.”

That made his eyebrows lift a touch, and he shifted his weight. “What kind of delivery are we talking?”

“I need this sent to the imperial palace,” Byleth answered, handing him a rather plain envelope.

“The imperial palace,” Yuri repeated. “In Enbarr.”

“Yes. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think it’s what’s needed,” Byleth answered, his eyes downturned for a moment as if forlorn. “For my sister’s sake.”  
Yuri couldn’t believe his luck. Leave it to his golden boy to walk up to him and solve his problems. He could just kiss him.

Well, he didn’t need a reason to want to kiss him, but facts were facts. He played at hemming and hawing, because he was Yuri and this was what he did.

“I guess I could set up a daisy chain… send it through Leicester, to my agent out in the countryside in Varley, get it to my agent in the palace… it’ll take some doing, and it’ll take a while, but sure. Your spymaster can make it happen,” he said with a wink and placing his hand on his hip. 

The way he sagged with relief almost made the work he did worth it. 

“I’ll need to change the seal and add my own instead. Is that fine?” Yuri asked.

“As long as you don’t look. It’s personal, and it’s not mine to share,” Byleth said, only easing off when Yuri raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

“Relax, the seal isn’t safe, but the contents are. I’ll get it to Enbarr in one piece. You can even watch me seal it up again if you want,” he said, and then his eyes sharpened. “This is for someone specific I take it?”

Byleth nodded. “The Emperor. Or at least Hubert.”

Yuri snorted, smiling ruefully. “You just won’t let my job be easy, will you? Fine. I’ll have my agents get it there.”

“Thank you, Yuri,” Byleth said, sincerity coloring his voice, and his eyes shone over the gentle smile on his face. For a brief moment, all he could think was that he looked beautiful there in the morning sun.

“What, did you think that I was doing this all for free? I have a fee,” he said, crossing his arms imperiously.

Byleth stilled, face morphing into a cute o of surprise.

“Ah… of course. What would you like?” he asked, ever polite.

It brought a chuckle from his throat, that. It was endearing how he seemed to miss every sign they were directing towards him, and Yuri suspected that even sitting in his lap outright would be too subtle for him.

But he’d settle for one of life’s smaller pleasures. “A kiss for luck, perhaps. Think you can manage?”

The way he seemed to stop entirely, not even blinking, told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s all?” Byleth managed after a moment. “Right here?”

“What, you don’t want anyone to see?” he teased. “Tell you what: walk me somewhere you wouldn’t mind kissing a pretty boy.” He hadn’t applied any product to his face in more than a day, but he knew he warranted the praise either way for how Byleth’s eyes dilated. It didn’t take much more to get him to lead him off.

It was nothing special, just a private spot behind the baths, but when he pushed him up against the wall and claimed his mouth, he didn’t really care where he was. Could’ve been behind the stable for all he cared. ...Well, maybe he would care a little, but not as much as he could for everything he was getting: tongue, hands at his hips, hard chest pressed against his, and the smell of cobbles after a good rain filling his nose and soothing him for reasons he couldn’t explain.

He wrapped his arms around him in turn, pulling him impossibly closer, and he swallowed the pleased, surprised moan Byleth gave him. He savored their closeness. He was so good, so delectably different from Claude, such a delightful counterpoint. Gods, he wanted both of them in his bed forever. He just needed to get them there.

Without conscious thought, he nipped at Byleth’s collar, making him stiffen and rightly groan for him. His grip suddenly turned iron-clad as he locked inhumanly dilated eyes with his, leaning down and breathing him in as surprisingly sharp teeth raked over the sensitive skin of his neck. Rather sensitive, in fact. He didn’t even realize he’d started panting.

“Mine…” he whispered, those sharp, sharp teeth making something in the back of his head howl for more, his mind going heat-hazy and hungry.

“Yours,” he gasped, grinding helplessly against this man he couldn’t resist, didn’t want to resist.

But slowly, Byleth’s hands lessened their vice grip on him, and he let Yuri go as he pulled back, face burning, but eyes smug. “Is that my debt paid?” he asked, voice a hungry rasp like the absolute bastard he was.

“...You’re awful,” he groaned, leaning heavily against the wall. “Fine. If you’re too busy for me after everything I do for you, then I don’t want to even look at you.”

He’d pout, though he was pleased enough. But then Byleth wrapped his arms around his front a trifle awkwardly, his lips by his ear. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you someday, alright?”

Yuri played along, giving a little huff of imperious acceptance. “You’d better,” he said childishly, and then Byleth kissed his cheek and let him go.

“Talk to you soon,” he said finally, leaving him to collect himself behind the baths.

He lifted his fingers to his lips, eyes going dreamy and glazed. That man… he really got Yuri going. Goddess knew why.

He could stay there and think about it all day, but he had work to do, and there were other people that needed him, after all.

And sometimes, all it would take to help was a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're in at a photo finish yet again! Holidays, amirite?
> 
> Anyway, I don't wanna tip our hand too early, but be prepared for the rating to go up next week, yeah?
> 
> Also, if you'd like to join our discord and read some Secret Content™ like some non-canonical smut Xima wrote, you can join us at our 18+ discord, https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm 
> 
> That said, a lot of you are just popping in and then running it seems! Look Xima in the eye and say when you come for smut :P


	41. Almyran Pine Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress of running a war wears on both of the twins.
> 
> Byleth finds solace in an unexpected but not unwelcome place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit intimacy! If such is not your thing, please scroll to the bottom for a plot summary.

Byleth found her out on the bridge in the frigid gale waiting for him as he made his nightly trek to the cathedral.

It had been a long day, something that had become a routine for better or worse. He and Seteth had been hunched over their desks for hours planning, organizing, and giving orders. Both the Leicester and Faerghus contingents were leaving any day now, and he had to make sure everything was in order. Fixing errors after this would be riskier and much more costly.

It had to be done before anything else. Personal things could wait. By the time he had finished, the sun had long since set, and his eyes burned from the strain. It was fine, though. He wouldn’t need them for what came next.

Anything Dimitri had for him couldn’t hurt him any worse than it already had. It had only cost him a bit of rest, and he’d had enough already.

But Blythe looking at him with burning eyes wasn’t something he’d steeled himself for.

“You should be coming to bed,” she said in a desolate voice that made him think that perhaps he should have.

Gods. He didn’t have time for this. He was too tired, there was still too much to do, and Dimitri needed him. Sometimes in between fits of rage and loathing, he would get glimpses of that gentle prince he’d been back before the war, before his professor had fallen into his slumber, and that alone was worth any dream he could have when asleep.

Instead of saying that, though, all his mind could conjure was, “There’s something important I need to do.”

“No, Dimitri’s going to shout at you all night, and you’re going to take it, same as you have for weeks. I haven’t seen you for anything other than an assignment in what feels like an eternity, Byleth,” she said, her voice gaining a heat he’d only heard from her towards him a handful of times in his life.

The wind blew around and buffeted against them, warning of the impending storm that marked the oversoon beginning of the season. The march to Faerghus would be a rough one, but all the same, it had to be done. Too much time had already been spent on planning, and he would need every moment he could to convince Dimitri it had to be done.

He forced himself to meet his sister’s eyes, knowing she deserved as much if not more. “He needs me, Blythe.”

“A lot of people need you, _Byleth_ ,” she ground out, her gaze damning as she leveled a finger against him. “You aren’t taking care of yourself. You barely eat, don’t sleep, and spend the rest of your time in every meeting the council has.”

She stepped closer until the smell of rust burned in his nose despite the gale.

“You’re no use to any of us if you break yourself. You need to rest.”

Byleth tensed, a part of him rearing up. “I think five years is enough.”  
  
“Bullshit. That’s _bullshit_ , and you know it just like you know you’re going to burn yourself out, and I need you to stop before you do because you’re _hurting me_ , Byleth!” she barked out, hands fisting at her hips, clearly restraining herself.

It was all he could do not to freeze there amidst the ice.

But she would continue.

“Everyone is gone except for you, Byleth,” she said, eyes shimmering in a way he’d never seen before. She took a shaky breath, preparing herself before she spoke again. “Everyone’s gone. My aunt, my pack, my children, my— my love… And now you, too. I’m _starving_ , By. I have _no one_.”

“You still have me,” he objected softly, reaching for her hand.

He’d intended to pull her close and nuzzle her neck in the way that had become almost something of a panacea whenever they’d felt worse for wear, but rather than grant him the comfort, she let her hand slip out of his and fall limp at her side. She stood before him, wreathed in winter winds, her eyes shining with unshed tears that stared into his as her lip quivered. 

Then, in a voice that could have been lost in the gale, she whispered, “No, I don’t. You belong to him now.”

Byleth felt like a fist had struck him in the chest. He didn’t have any words, none that would comfort her. He could spin his reasons and try to make her understand, but they would only be excuses. It wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear, regardless of what her heart would need. Not that it would even matter _what_ he said, as she’d decided on his guilt long before he’d stepped out onto the bridge.

He had nothing, and his silence would once more damn him.

She shook her head and backed away, the stoic facade that both of them had worn in the idyll of childhood ignorance cracking. “You can’t help me anymore, Byleth. You’re too busy. But I still love you,” she said in the grim tones of someone climbing the steps to the gibbet. She knew him too well, she knew which side of the bridge he’d choose. But there was nowhere to go. So with one final misty breath, she swallowed and turned away, retreating back into the monastery and leaving him out there on the precipice with naught but the winter wind.

Alone.

He couldn’t tell if it was the frost or his guilt that stung him. He had never been one to bear either, both of them capable of leaving him frozen in place, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Ice and inaction weren’t all that different.

The tempest would serve as white noise for the next eternity, or so it would feel. Decisions had always been difficult for him to make on his own, but Blythe had already said her piece and found him inadequate. He balled his hand into a fist, cursing himself for being unable to say anything or to give her what she’d needed.

His heart bled, crying out and demanding he chase after his sister but he knew he couldn’t. He had wounded his pack and had no right to beg her forgiveness. He should have seen what was happening and paid more attention to how Blythe had felt.

He pulled torn pages out of his coat pocket, more of the letters he’d found littering the ground of the Eagles classroom, from the journal where Blythe had started scribbling down her thoughts scattered as they were in her head there onto the backs of old lesson plans and the last vestiges of their past life.

He had done this. He had left her alone to languish with them as they plagued her. Where he could have lent an ear or given her a shoulder, she had written volumes. And as the ink dried on the page, so had any faith or desire with them.

She had been forced to leave the one she loved most behind for their sake, and they were all too blind to see how she had hidden her pain.

He wondered if she’d noticed the pages went missing.

He wondered if the emperor had read any he’d sent.

His heart hurt to know that even if she had that they’d gone unanswered. Blythe’s words had been falling upon deaf ears on two fronts.

Would it be worth it to continue, even if it accomplished nothing? He didn’t know. He didn’t have answers. He didn’t have words.

He didn’t have anything.

It was all he had left to stand there with the wind whipping against him as it barrelled through the peaks, but he didn’t feel it as he felt he should. It was cold, unbearable, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

It was a just punishment for his failure, he supposed. He had been unable to act, so he would freeze in place instead.

“Teach? What are you doing out here?” came a voice from the end of the bridge, and as Byleth slowly turned his head, he could see a shock of yellow emerge amidst the blinding white. “C’mon, there’s a literal fucking blizzard going on! Let’s get inside.”

Before Byleth could protest, an arm wrapped around him and led them out of the storm and down the halls towards the dorms. The cathedral grew smaller behind him, and he didn’t have the heart to care.

He spared a single glance at his door when they passed, knowing it wouldn’t be unlocked but still feeling off limits either way, and let his gaze fall to the snow-covered ground.

They ascended the stairs up to the second floor of the noblesse and stopped at a door to beat the rime off their outer garments before the turning of the knob sent a gust of warm air out that warmed Byleth’s cheeks.

“Close it behind us so the heat doesn’t escape. I don’t think I can handle any more of that whore frost than I have already.”

“...It’s ‘hoarfrost,’ Claude,” Byleth said, looking around at the familiar clutter scattered about the room.

“I know what I said,” he tsked, sitting Byleth down on a rug in front of the fireplace. “Here, hand me your coat and kick your boots off. You don’t want any of that sticking to you while it dries.”

Byleth barely had the time to undo the fastenings of his cloak, as his fingers were numb and fumbling over them, before Claude lifted it off of him and tossed it over the back of a chair alongside his own, a small puddle already forming on the floorboards beneath them.

The room was just as cluttered now as it had been five years ago, and Byleth suspected that many of the books hadn’t been moved in that time, either. Everything was cluttered right down to the smell. He didn’t recognize half of the mysterious scents hidden in the fabrics or floating peacefully through the room, and yet, they felt correct somehow, more complete. It just fit.

Claude sank down onto the rug next to him and unceremoniously kicked his boots off back towards the door, leaving them both there in their undershirts. He let out a sigh as he gazed into the fire. “Man, I don’t know what I’d do if the builders hadn’t given us fireplaces in the rooms. I’m just not built for these alpine winters, y’know?”

When Byleth answered with a simple hum and the thud of his soles hitting the ground, Claude took it as a sign to continue, “So why you decided to stay out in a snowstorm is beyond me.” 

A moment of silence passed between them with Byleth opening his mouth time after time only to close it before he could offer any explanations or excuses. In the end, he could only shake his head, pieces of melting ice falling out of seafoam, and look out somewhere between his feet and the stone of the fireplace.

Claude’s brow softened, and he let a sigh escape his lips. There was something in his eyes that Byleth couldn’t quite place, but before he could look further, he shifted.

“Geez, your face is chapped. You need to get warm,” he said as he reached for a familiar saffron-colored afghan off of the bed and draped it over his shoulders with care and giving them a gentle squeeze. “I think I can help with that.”

He made his way past the clutter strewn about the floor to his desk, which was no better, and sifted through until he found… a _kettle?_ And a pair of what Byleth could only assume were mugs from how oddly shaped they were. He worked almost effortlessly in a way that made him remember a few concerning rumors surrounding him and poison.

With the final flourish, Claude sauntered back to his place amidst the pillows beside him.

“Here,” he said, placing a hot mug with a metal straw into Byleth’s hands. “You used to do this for me all the time, so I figured it was my turn to wine and dine you.”

Byleth’s eyes flicked to the cup then back up at Claude, his brow furrowing. “...This is grass. In a coconut.”

Claude laughed at that. “No, no, it’s Almyran pine needle tea. In a calabash, which is a gourd.”

“Not like any tea I’ve ever seen,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he swirled the mixture around.

“Fódlan always was a place for stiffs. You all like your stuff fancy and polished so you don’t get your gloves dirty,” Claude said, wiggling his fingers in a mocking sort of jest before taking a sip. “All Almyrans need is some ‘grass.’ And maybe one of those coconuts.”

Byleth took a pause, handling the straw with a cautious sort of curiosity before placing it to his lips and taking a deep sip. He felt his entire face wince and let out a sharp cough. “Why is it so _bitter?_ ”

“Not everything can be sweet in this world, you gotta be able to handle the hard hits,” Claude said, nodding sagely. “It’s how you build character.”

Byleth pounded his chest to bring out another cough. “I’m not sure that would build much of anything.”

“I mean, it _might_ put some hair on your chest, but I’m not sure if I could handle the green, personally.”

Byleth blinked at him. It started subtly, something forming in his chest, until it built up enough to ripple out of him as a soft, musical laugh. It shook him at his core, and something that had formed there, had _been_ forming there for longer than he realized, fell, like hardened snow from the boughs of a tree in the spring thaw.

Beside him, there was an exhale that sounded somewhere between a breathy sigh and a low chuckle, drawing his eyes to catch warm, verdant green. He wasn’t sure if it was the fire, the tea, or the sight of it that brought warmth, but he welcomed it all the same, like one would an old friend. Though in the five years and some odd months since the world as he knew it had been lost, he felt like he might as well be.

“There you are, Teach,” Claude said in a low, tender voice and a smile more genuine than he felt he’d ever seen from him, and Byleth could feel one of his own tugging at the corners of his lips.

Then Claude leaned forward and kissed him, and in that moment, the final bit of ice in his chest dropped and shattered, leaving behind a quickening both foreign and familiar. It brought a stillness to his mind, all silent save for the gentle crackling of the fire. Though as one became two, and two became three, even that was replaced by a distant, ringing hum.

All that existed was the warmth between them and the taste of pine.

Byleth found himself pressing forward as they separated, and he would have been loath to admit that a groan escaped his throat had Claude not chuckled and stroked his cheek.

“Fire’s dying,” he offered, squeezing his knee as he moved to place another log on the pile, and while Byleth could pout, he knew Claude was right. His wants weren’t inclined to be satisfied in a brisk chill.

He watched Claude stoke the wood with a poker that looked like it had seen more use and abuse than its intended purpose. His arms had too, he noticed. With his gloves and armguards gone, Byleth could see a littering of scars from old cuts and burns and calluses on his dominant hand from drawing back his bowstring.

The prince had not been the only one to see the reality of war, his adolescence had not been the only casualty. Everyone at Garreg Mach had been made to see ruin, and that more than anything made his heart hurt.

He had failed more than he’d known and was receiving more than he deserved.

Claude seemed to have seen the change in his face, worry beginning to color his own as he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him flush against his side. He began running his fingertips up and down his arm and tracing patterns over his scarred knuckles, and when Byleth finally rested his head on his shoulder, he answered in like.

“You ready to talk?” he asked, his voice somewhere above a rumble while still being clear enough to warrant an answer.

“About the bridge?”

“That’s a good start.”

Byleth took a deep breath, letting it all come out in a resigned sigh. “There’s not much to say.”

“So there was no reason you were standing there freezing to death?” Claude said, quirking an eyebrow. “That’s _worse_ , Teach.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just—” Byleth stopped himself, searching for the words he didn’t have to lessen the worry. He let out another sigh. “It’s my responsibility to take care of, not yours. I don’t want to add to your burden.”

“Hey,” Claude said, nudging his shoulder with his own, and when Byleth looked at him, he took his face in his hands and caressed his cheek. “You’re a lot of things, but you are _not_ a burden. You take on a lot. I see it — hell, we _all_ see it — and I know what kind of stress that puts you under. I’m asking not because I don’t trust you. I asked because I want to help.”

In the following breaths, he brought their foreheads together. “So please just… let me.”

As they sat there, Byleth held onto the plea, letting himself mull it over. There was something else hidden in it waiting to be unveiled, something simple, and the rawness was laid bare for him to take.

It was true that Byleth hadn’t picked Claude’s class to lead, and while it hadn’t driven them apart, he could ensure that this would bridge whatever was left.

“Blythe and I had a fight,” he said at length, breaking the silence. They moved apart, Claude looking at him expectantly. “She’s… afraid I’ve left her and that she’s alone, which I should have noticed sooner.”

“Hm,” Claude said, resting his cheek on a fist. “Been hanging around in the cathedral again?”

“Mm.”

“You gotta stop sleeping in there.”

“I _don’t_ sleep in there.”

“Then why _aren’t_ you sleeping in there?”

The question caught him off guard. On the surface, it was almost in jest, though he knew Claude was really asking something else. It was something Byleth avoided asking himself, but there was no use in keeping it locked away.

“...Because I wasn’t there,” he said, his voice cracking on a fracture. “I slept for five years while the world fell apart, and I couldn’t be there when— when he—”

Claude pulled him back into a tight embrace before he could break apart any further and rubbed circles into his shoulders while Byleth marred the insides of his fists with small half-moons.

“I wasn’t there when he needed me to be, and he suffered for it,” Byleth choked, all but muffled in Claude’s shoulder.

No words passed between them for a few moments, the crackling of the fire and a few sharp breaths the only things keeping them from silence.

“Maybe you weren’t,” Claude said at length, earning the cautious scrutiny of reddened seafoam eyes. “But that wasn’t your choice.” He paused to shift his weight so that he could look into them fully. “I know you, Teach. You would never put anyone close to you at risk, you care too much. That’s why people look up to you. Give it time, and I’m sure they'll both remember that.”

The look Byleth gave him was inscrutable and yet transparent all at once, saying just enough to convey without tipping his hand. “And you?”

“I never forgot,” Claude said, his voice low in a way that was different than before.

His eyes shone in the half-light of the fire. They were such a dark green and seemed to go on forever… He hadn’t even realized that he’d been staring until Claude placed a hand on his cheek, making him jolt.

“And I want to be there for you when you need it,” he continued as he stroked his cheekbone with a thumb, eye glinting in the darkness, lips slightly parted.

It was becoming a struggle to keep his eyelids from fluttering closed, and Byleth was tired. His mind had been at a constant sprint, and he wanted nothing more than for everything to _stop_ , and Claude was there offering to do it. But something tugged at him, something at odds with what he wanted, its importance searing his conscience like a brand.

This would mark him, and Blythe would know him for the traitor that he was.

He could leave now, cleanse himself of his guilt in a cold wash, and confess to her in hopes that she would allow him to atone, but—

“Let me be there for you, Byleth,” he said again, his lips mere inches from his, and suddenly Byleth felt like he was drunk. He was too warm, could smell the pine on Claude’s breath, the smoky nag champa on his collar, and the musky amber under that, and then his body was acting without his say-so.

He grasped Claude’s side tightly, and his own lips fell open to let a shaky breath fall out. He looked into Claude’s eyes and found himself so wanting to become lost in the forest therein, and it felt like the only things stopping him from falling into himself were the firm grip Claude had on his hip and a truce he’d made in confidence five years ago.

“Please… let me be there for you,” came another echo, softer this time. And with one last breath of pine, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut and fell backwards onto the rug behind him.

Claude propped himself up, his gaze focused and unwavering and his hands on either side of his head as he leaned over Byleth and his hands ghosted over his sides to the small of his back.

“I can’t go further without your say-so, Teach,” he said gently.

He was beautiful, his own eyes dark with… something he couldn’t fathom, and he could see his own pupils reflected wide and hungry in them. Byleth licked his lips, not quite understanding what Claude was offering. All he knew was he felt good, and he wanted _more_ . He wanted to feel him against his naked skin, to breathe in his scent and feel it mix with his, and to mark him like he had Yuri so all would know he was _his_.

He wanted Claude like he wanted very few things in his life at that moment, and he wanted him now.

“Please…” Byleth breathed. 

“Please _what,_ Teach?” Claude asked, his eyes boring into his.

“Whatever you want, just do it…” he murmured, turning away as a blush burned at his cheeks.

A gentle touch to his cheek brought his eyes back, and Claude’s own took him in with an echo of something deeper that shook in them for a moment before he swallowed and set his brow.

There was no need for words after. He stole his breath away as he kissed him, his tongue plunging into his mouth, and without even thinking, his eyes fluttered closed once more as a hand groped him through his trousers, forcing a surprised moan out of his mouth and into Claude’s.

 _Oh. That_ was what Claude meant.

Byleth gasped under his onslaught, the buttons on his trousers already undone. “Claude, what—” he asked, but was cut off by a moan as the man nipped at the edge of his jaw.

“Shhh… just let me take care of you,” Claude whispered, punctuating his statement with a gentle kiss at his throat as he slid a hand underneath his clothes over his abs and lifting his shirt just enough to show them off before reaching into his pants.

Byleth was blind-sided. Claude felt this way about _him?_ That couldn’t be. Claude, who was charming and funny in the same breath, Claude, who had in one of their earliest conversations had called him — oh fuck, what was it — the _village bicycle_ for _exactly_ this, which Byleth was only becoming increasingly more aware of as Claude gently began to pull his trousers down, his smallclothes the only thing left to protect his dignity as he removed them.

“It’s okay, Byleth. I know. It’s okay,” he soothed, kissing him more gently now as he ran his hands over his exposed skin and making his body burn for more. “You don’t need to think too much about this. Just enjoy it, okay? Goddess knows you need a release.”

With that, Claude leaned down and trailed wet kisses along his abs, Byleth’s arousal straining against his clothes. He ghosted his fingers over it before he teasingly kissed its underside.

“Geeze, Teach, you’re not half-bad in that department, either. You’re just good at everything. Not that I’m complaining,” Claude teased in a warm tone that went straight to the pit of his stomach.  
  
“Ah, Claude, are — you’re sure?” Byleth asked, breathless as he fought to produce a coherent thought.

But Claude just smiled, pulling Byleth free and nestling his cheek against it. “Of course, Teach. What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

It seemed like everything Claude was doing was just getting his blood up higher.  
  
“Then stop teasing me and get on with it,” he gasped, and with one last salacious glance, Claude put his cock in his mouth.   
  
“Mmm, well with taste like this on the line, I guess I’d better get a move on,” he hummed before running his tongue from the base to the tip and licking at a drop that had beaded there. Then he gave an overblown moan that sent a shiver down his spine.

He looked so sweet beneath him like this. He wanted him so badly, but… 

No. He couldn’t. This was wrong, he knew, even as his head slammed back against the rug when Claude took him into his hot, wet mouth.

But, stars, he’d never felt like this before. He’d had his fair share of pleasure with men in taverns, tents, and haylofts back in his time with the mercenaries, but this was different. It felt wrong, it felt right, it was...

This was _Claude_. He couldn’t just let him think he was another pretty boy in a bar.

“Wait,” he gasped with his cock still in Claude’s mouth, though he pulled off of him with a wet pop and glimmering green eyes.  
  
“Yes?” he asked, all sultry elegance as he leaned against his length as if to remind him of why he was there.

Byleth pulled back and sat up awkwardly, Claude mirroring him with a look of confusion. He reached forward to run a thumb over his cheekbone. “Claude…What do you think I want from you?”

Claude’s face slid into that classic mask of his, teasing smirk and all. “Well, I _think_ you could use a good—”

“Claude, I’m being serious,” he said, not letting him break his gaze. “What do you think you’re offering me?”

“Professor, I — you’re under so much stress,” Claude said with a shrug. “So it’s okay, I don’t mind if we just fool around a bit.”

Byleth furrowed his brow. “But what do _you_ want, Claude?”

This gave him pause, his face taking on a dumbstruck look.

“Did you do all of this for me because I seemed stressed? Is that truly the only reason?” Byleth pressed, leaning close enough he could smell the pine needles on his breath and the warring emotions beneath it.

“I—” Claude stuttered, and as he looked into his eyes, a look of fear crossed his features for an instant. Not fear of him at least, but something else.

After all this time, he didn’t know Claude. He was a secretive person who rarely showed his true feelings, but it only made him want to know more. He wanted to soothe his fears, kiss away his pains. He wanted this moment to _mean_ something to him, as he knew it would for Byleth himself. He cared for him, cared for him just like— oh, his heart, like—

 _Stars_ , but he cared for Claude just like Dimitri.

“Please, Claude,” Byleth begged, his eyes boring into his. “I need you to be honest with me.”Claude’s eyes darted around the room before locking back onto Byleth’s lips. “I don’t… what about Dimitri?”   
  
“Dimitri is one of the most important people in my life. So is Yuri, and so are you ,” he explained, struggling to find just the right words to make him understand. “Dimitri is… he… I would do _anything_ for him, because he needs me.”

Claude looked away then, his eyes heavy in a way that pained Byleth to see.

“You don’t need me the way he does, but you’re just as important to me,” he murmured almost reverently as he brushed Claude’s lip with his thumb, drawing his gaze back.

He eyed him with something Byleth couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t seem off put at least. “And you feel this way about all of us?”

“Yes, I couldn’t live without any of you,” Byleth replied as he reached out for Claude and caught his hand in front of his chest. “That is why I can’t let you do what you were going to do. I can’t use you in such a base way. It wouldn't be right.”

“Byleth…” Claude chuckled as he reached forward to caress his cheek. “I knew you were oblivious, but I didn’t realize you were _that_ slow on the uptake.”

Byleth blinked. “What do you mean?”

“If you don’t think that I haven’t felt the same way, then I don’t know what to tell you,” he replied.

“You… do?” Byleth asked.

“Yeah, dummy. And besides, Yuri and I have been having casual flings for years, so being weird about you having feelings for him and Dimitri would be kind of hypocritical. Now are you going to kiss me or am I gonna have to do everything tonight?” teased Claude, his eyes shining warmly in the firelight.

Byleth’s mind stuttered to a halt as he stared at Claude with new eyes, knowing Yuri had tasted him too, and somehow it felt right. Goddess, he looked so beautiful. Byleth’s mouth fell open, speechless. He… Claude wanted him, actually _wanted_ him, and somehow, to hear him say it was more special than anything else.

...Distantly, he realized he’d admitted his love to Claude with his cock out. A wildfire of a blush overtook him, and for a brief moment, all he wanted was to be struck by lightning.

Somewhere outside of Byleth’s head, Claude sighed, though it sounded more performative than anything. “Guess it _is_ gonna be me taking the reins…” he murmured ruefully before tackling Byleth to the ground and locking lips with him as he pressed his knee gently between his legs, making his eyelids flutter.  
  
“Hey, the show’s out here, buddy,” he murmured into his ear as he bit at his earlobe and forced a squeak from him thanks to gentle friction of his knee against him and his wandering fingers and expert tongue claiming him in a way he never knew he wanted.

Byleth’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Claude lifted his shirt, giving a hot, wet, suckling kiss to one of his nipples while tweaking the other and sliding down his chest giving nipping kisses. He pulled back and stared down at his chest, right at his scar, and Byleth realized no one outside his family had known it was there. He thought Claude might ask about it until he leaned back down and gave it a gentle kiss at its center and continued on his way.

Oh, but his mouth felt so _good._

It was excruciating the way his tongue wrapped around him as he took him deeper, swallowing him as if it were nothing before pulling back and licking at his slit and giving his cock teasing, experimental tugs and twists after sending his nerves haywire. Claude was good at this, and he knew it if the cocky grin on his face as he jerked him off while making eye contact was any indication.

Byleth had no words he could manage at that moment, so he merely made a desperate noise, which made Claude give a worrying chuckle.  
  
“Don’t worry, Teach, I’ve got you,” he lilted as he slowly pulled off Byleth’s shirt and tossed it to where his pants had landed before he turned back and looked him over once more. Hungrily. 

The way his eyes roved over him and he bit his lip made something in the pit of his stomach burn. He _liked_ it when Claude looked at him like that, but he wanted him to do more than _look_.

“I’m at your mercy…” he murmured, knowing he was blushing like a fool for how Claude’s eyes widened, then narrowed in desire.

Claude whispered a curse under his breath as he rushed to tear off his own shirt and toss it into the pile before he lay down on top of him, his muscular chest pressed against his own. 

“I’m going to give you everything you want tonight, Teach. You ready?” he said into his ear, making him shiver. And, in a way that no longer surprised him, he was.

“Don’t promise what you can’t deliver, Riegan,” he countered as he began to find his wit once more, making Claude snort.

“There he is. Alright, guess I’ll have to show you,” he taunted before pulling back and standing up to stretch, which showed off his toned chest. Years of archery had been good to him, Byleth noted as he swayed to his bedside drawer. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a small amber bottle, the contents of which Byleth was familiar with.

Ever since Byleth had had his first night in bed with another man, he’d only sometimes been on the receiving end, but he wasn’t opposed. There were things to be enjoyed by either, after all, and the thought had him clenching in anticipation, if only for how Claude said nothing until he was on his knees in front of him.

He slid Byleth into his lap so he could feel just how tight Claude’s trousers had become, and his hands slid down Byleth’s muscular back before sliding it into his smallclothes and leaning forward to place his lips at his ear.  
  
“Last chance to back out. This what you want?” he whispered as a cork popped somewhere behind him.

“More than you know,” Byleth murmured back, grinding against Claude’s clothed bulge. “But you should probably take off your pants first.” 

That brought out a ribbing laugh like he’d never heard from Claude before.

“That’d help things along, wouldn’t it?” Claude answered before he slid Byleth off to unbutton his pants and pull both them and his smallclothes off at once, showing him hard and practically _dripping_.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Byleth pushed Claude down so he fell back on his haunches with a soft noise of surprise and leaned down to breathe him in: all nag champa and amber like the rest of him, but with something _more_. 

“You gonna stare or what, Teach?” Claude teased as he leaned back on his arms.

“If I say no, will you be insufferable about it?” he fired back before gently licking at his slit and drawing out a shuddering sigh.

  
“Oh, at this point I’m not stupid enough to ruin the moment,” he replied, looking down as he gently kissed and licked at him.

He had never loved tasting another man as much as he did in this moment. It was bliss enough to know that their feelings wouldn’t disappear in the morning and leave only the memory of it behind. He couldn’t imagine how long either of them had waited for this, but while it had been months for him, it had been and half a decade for Claude. He would need to make the wait worth it.

In a single gulp, he took all of Claude’s length into his throat, gently working the muscles as if to swallow him. It helped to remember the times he had been pleased in such a way: all heat and friction, and _absolutely no teeth_. Simple enough. He was doing a good job of it, if Claude’s appreciative groan and his hand sliding into his hair were any indication. He pulled up with a gasp, string of saliva connecting them before it snapped.

Claude looked down at him, a trifle dazed, as Byleth gave him a smile. “You should probably get to the main event. I don’t want to be interrupted by firewood a second time.”

“Erm, right. Your move, Teach,” said Claude, making a slower comeback to reality than Byleth had ever seen from him.

It brought him no small amount of pride to know it was because of something he’d done. He smiled inwardly and gave his cock a final kiss before he pulled back and turned to face away from Claude as he wriggled out of his smallclothes and retrieved the discarded bottle.

There was a pause, and then Claude sighed. “Damn, Teach, you’re a real stunner, you know that?” he said before sliding the oil over him and gently pressing against him.

“I’ve got more than just a show, you know,” he said, snorting despite himself.

A finger sliding into him cut him short, though. It was cold and wet, and it really had been a while since anyone had done this, the five years he spent comatose notwithstanding. A moan juddered from his throat as it went deeper, Claude caressing his back as he continued to work him over.

“You’re doing great, babe,” he whispered into his ear, smile evident. Goddess, he talked about him like he was _worshipping,_ and though part divinity he may be, he never thought he’d enjoy the feeling quite as much as he did now.

A second finger slid in, drawing another surprised moan out of Byleth. He fell to his elbows as he kept using more of that cold oil and made him see stars when they hadn’t even started yet.

And then Claude hooked into him, curling his fingers and hitting that spot that made a noise Byleth didn’t know he was capable of crawl out of his throat. “ _Claude,_ “ he begged as his own cock gave a hungry twitch, already dripping.

Claude responded with a delighted groan of his own, his hand leaving his back to stroke himself before he lubed up a third finger and slid it in. _Fuck._ Three was a lot, and he was curling and hooking on top of that and making him make too many embarrassing noises while his own fingernails dug into the carpet.

  
“Stars, Claude, _please._ I _need_ you.”

In an act of mercy, Claude pulled his fingers out slowly and left his ass gaping. Byleth was growing impatient, and he could hear the soft sounds of Claude running an oiled hand over his cock.

“I live to serve, Teach,” was his cheeky reply as he felt his cock press up against him. Oh, it was so hot, and he was so slick. He wanted it, needed it—

His breath caught in his throat. The stretch, the fullness… it had been a long since he’d had anything like this. Claude pushed into him, drawing out moans inch after delicious inch. By the time he bottomed out, Byleth’s face was in the carpet.

Claude wrapped his arms around his middle as he hissed what was surely a filthy word in a language he didn’t understand and leaned forward to press into him as he started a rhythm.

“You feel incredible,” Claude murmured hungrily as he reached to grasp at his drooling cock and jerk it a few times before pulling back to dig into his hips. 

He was loving but relentless in his rhythm. He worked him over, his hands raking across his body as he rutted into him and gave him what he’d been starved for.

“You’re so good to me, By,” he said into his ear as he pulled back. If Byleth had been a lesser man, he would have given in to the urge to whine, but the way Claude’s hand smoothed over his thigh stopped him.

“On your back,” he said gently. “I want to see you.”

The request gave him pause. It was enough to allow himself to be taken, but to be seen? He didn’t know. But he let Claude to gently roll him over anyway, even if the way his face was searing meant he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand caressing his cheek. “Look at me?”

It took effort, but Byleth did, and he wondered how he’d almost convinced himself not to. Claude was beautiful. Byleth reached up to stroke his face, to run his hand over his eyebrows, and found a scar from a long-forgotten edge. It made him wonder how he’d gotten it and when and if Byleth could have prevented it if he’d been there and—

“I’m gonna go back in now, okay?” Claude said with a doting smile as his hands caressed him, stroking along the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders as he pulled him closer.

The stretch made Byleth’s eyelids flutter. He filled him so well, their bodies chest to chest as he kissed him and licked at his throat.

Their rhythm slowed after some time, and Byleth returned to himself to blink and furrow his brow in confusion. He turned his eyes to Claude for an answer.

“Hey,” Claude said, his voice smaller than Byleth had ever heard it. “Can you do one thing for me?”

“Like what?” Byleth asked.

  
“Call me Khalid, when we’re like this…” he replied, kissing him closed-mouth. “Please?”   
  
There were a few questions there, but the naked desire and sincerity his request made Byleth soften. He wrapped his arms around Claude’s shoulders and kissed him in return . “Of course… Khalid.”   
  
The threat of something raw shook in his eyes, and he closed them tightly before he risked them making good on it. “Byleth,” Khalid gasped, wrapping his arms tight around him, hips bucking deeper. 

“Khalid,” Byleth gasped in turn, both of them forehead to forehead.

  
“Byleth, I—” He was silenced by a desperate kiss as he pulled him as close as he could.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready,” Byleth whispered as he looked into his eyes. He looked pained for a moment, the acceptance blatant on his face.

“Byleth, I—” He began to judder, his pace growing erratic as blunt nails dug into his back.  
  
“Khalid, _please_ —” he begged, not even sure what he was asking for as he wrapp ed his legs around his hips to pull him closer and feel him pulse, to feel just how _close_ he was.   
  
And yet they could be closer still, Byleth thought, dragging his lips across his jaw to his ear with one request in a throaty whisper: “Fill me.”

That broke him. With a tortured groan, Khalid fell boneless on top of him, holding him close as he pulsed inside of him and stained him.

Then, for a moment, it was quiet save for the ragged breaths that escaped their heaving chests into the space that no longer existed between them, pressed together as they were in the way that only two could know, neither of them willing to sever into the separate. For now, in the after, they were one.  
  
“I love you,” Khalid whispered into his ear, breaking the silence as he pulled him tighter and nuzzled into his chest. Byleth held him in turn and ran a hand through his hair as he kept him close to his heart, unbeating as it was, though no less full for it.

Something wet fell onto Byleth’s collarbone.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he continued. “Ever since the Academy, I…” He swallowed deeply, finding his voice to continue, “I’d see the afternoon teas, the gifts, the way you’d smile… Just never for me.”

This had come from somewhere deep-seated and had only been freed by reopening the wound. It was a matter of the heart, and so it didn’t matter that Byleth had never meant any harm, as it had been done anyway, even if unwittingly. “No apology I could offer would be enough or make it right,” Byleth said as he stroked his hair. “But I can at least try to make up for it.”

He felt the chuckle more than he heard it, but it brought a smile to his lips nonetheless. “Khalid?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, too.”

They stayed like that on the carpet for who knew how long just holding each other and being as close as they could. At some point or another Khalid pulled out and reached for a cloth to clean them both up.

He stood and offered a hand to help Byleth up before gesturing to his bed.  
  
“Do you… wanna stay here, tonight?” he asked, more vulnerably than he had perhaps intended.

Byleth leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Of course,” he answered before crawling under the sheets. He held out an arm. “I hate a cold night alone.”

Khalid let out a laugh that almost hid his relief. “So much for the fire then, huh?”

“It’s fine, but I’ve found that a loved one does better,” Byleth said, taking him in his arms.

They lay there, the room silent save for the muffled wind outside, though Byleth found he was only barely cognizant of it with Claude — with _Khalid_ — tucked against him for how warm his breath was, slowing down as sleep eventually came to claim him there against his chest. 

A soft purr lulled him further, something Byleth had not done in over half a decade, but it brought him peace. He allowed his mind to wander, to entertain the idea of having this past the morning, past the winter. Perhaps even past the war. He would be heading north soon, but somehow it did not sting as it had. It was a lovely dream, he supposed, one that he would at least allow himself to indulge in as he began losing the battle with exhaustion until his eyes finally closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot summary: Byleth and Blythe meet on the bridge between the Cathedral and Garreg Mach as he prepared to go see Dimitri for another long night of argument and cajoling. Blythe accuses Byleth of abusing his health and losing himself in his work. Byleth is taken off-guard, and while understanding the truth of her statement, challenges her. Blythe confides that she has been terribly, crushingly lonely, and had wished that her brother would have reached out to help her in her time of need. Byleth is crushed by this, seeing the signs in hind-sight, but not knowing how to make it right.
> 
> She leaves him on the bridge, stating grimly that she loved him all the same, but leaving a festering wound behind as she turned back to the dorms. He stands in the snow, despairing of his failures. He muses on the letters he sent off to the Emperor that Blythe had unwittingly written, wondering if there was any point to the action.
> 
> he is interrupted by Claude, who coaxes him in out of the cold and to his rooms, where he brews him strong, Almyran tea.
> 
> Slowly and gently, Claude stakes his claim, coming onto Byleth with a chaste kiss. Byleth consents, but pauses before things get too heated when Claude plans to have sex with him. Byleth admits he has feelings for him, as well as Dimitri and Yuri, and can't let himself have soulless sex with a man he loves. He and Claude have a heart to heart, and Claude admits he's felt strongly for him too, and accepts his feelings for himself and the other men. However, Byleth is still haunted by the 'truce' he and Blythe made regarding Claude, and what this would mean for Blythe and himself, but he is too far gone to care.
> 
> Pretty awesome sex occurs.
> 
> Claude asks Byleth to call him Khalid when they're alone, and Byleth assents. They fall asleep in each other's arms, Byleth comfortable with the fact that Claude and everyone else was parting ways to join their respective warfronts. He knew Claude was his and he was Claude's. Everything else could wait.
> 
> Okay, actual end notes! Hooo! We've had that one saved up for about 9 months. We wrote it as one of our 'work-toward' ideas, and finally we get to share it with you all!
> 
> As ever, if you'd like to see some deleted scenes, non-canon smut and other fun stuff, or just say hi, come to our Discord! Please note it's 18+, on account of the smut. Do say hi if you pop in, even if only for the smut! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm


	42. Bitter draughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of the Emperor's left hand.

Coffee was one of the few pleasures Hubert could allow himself. It was a luxury if only for how it enervated him, which had been valuable to him in the past few years.

The sun would rise well after he had, as he’d read Petra’s report by candlelight while he chewed on something bland to give him strength with a dark cup burning his throat as the only companion to keep him alert. He’d do well to be prepared.

Paperwork was worse than rabbits. It multiplied the moment he looked away from his desk, but it was a task he undertook willingly. Were it not him, it would be the Emperor who had to deal with the asinine. At the least Ladislava was a competent bureaucrat who handled the war’s papers deftly. He would only find her handiwork on his desk when it was necessary.

Someone knocked at the door as his seal marked another paper somewhere a few inches into the stack, and he became aware of the first rays of sunlight filtering in through the glass. “You may enter,” he intoned as he tidied the space in front of him.

A familiar shock of burgundy greeted him with a short, rigid bow. “Hello, Hubert.”  
  
“Petra,” he said with a nod before gesturing to the chair across from him. His manner was unquestionably intimidating to those who did not know him, something he went to lengths to ensure, but Petra was no upjumped merchant vying for the Emperor’s ear.

“Could I offer you some coffee?” he offered, knowing her answer already but committed to being a good host to his old friend as she settled in. 

The sour face she made was answer enough. “No, thank you. I am still not an enjoyer of that drink of yours.”  
  
His lips raised a fraction of an inch at her friendly jab. “More for me, then.”

“I trust you know why you’re here?” he asked, mostly rhetorically, but pleased at her nod. “I read the report. It was satisfactory, but the matter requires thoroughness for a few reasons.”

“I understand. It was… unexpected. I am sorry, Hubert. I have failed you,” she said with eyes staring down at his desk.

He waved a hand dismissively. “I know who you fought, and I’m thankful you’re alive,” he said as he pulled her report out of his desk and skimmed it over once more. “We did find some serendipity in it, after all.”

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, I am not knowing that word.”  
  
“A fortunate coincidence prompted by nothing,” he answered as he read. 

“But I lost the entire shipment. What are you planning, Hubert?” she asked, tone lowering distrustfully. “...Was there a trap in the relics?”  
  
Hubert looked up from the page. “If there was, I wouldn’t tell you. It is for the best that you remain ignorant about what plots I have in play. You know that.”   
  
Petra grit her teeth. “But this is the _Professor,_ Hubert!” she hissed as she leaned forward in her chair.

He sighed. “Yes, it is. And I’m asking you to trust that I am working in the Emperor’s best interests with regards to her.”

Petra could only frown at that, eyes gimlet as they assessed him. “...What did you really want to be speaking about to me, Hubert?”

“You mentioned that she expressed interest in speaking to the Emperor,” he noted, finally putting the paper down. “I want a fuller debriefing on how the Professor’s leanings struck you.”  
  
She stared at him, disbelieving. “You want her to defect?”

  
“Yes, and I’d like Leicester to surrender and for the merchant princes to collectively drown themselves in a lake,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes for effect. “No, I want to know what you sensed from her. She may not be amenable to defection, but perhaps there are other ways we can take advantage of her wavering loyalty. Even ways that are mutually beneficial.”

Hubert was no stranger to a sharp, assessing eye, but Petra looked at him like a hunter searching for a point to strike rather than an ally and confidant.  
  
“...And you work in the Emperor’s interest, or Edelgard’s?”   
  
Hubert had to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Which do you think I _should_ be serving, Petra? Do you think Edelgard desires a matchmaker or a spymaster? Do not question my loyalty.”   
  
At least she had the good grace to look shame-faced. “I only meant—”   
  
“I know what you meant,” he said through his teeth. “But I am the one asking questions here. You said she wanted to speak to the Emperor. What did she want?”

“An end to the war,” she said to the mahogany. “For her people to be safe. Her motives are not complicated, Hubert.”

He bit back a snarl. “With the Emperor. What did she want with the _Emperor?_ ”   
  
This, at least, gave her pause. “What I said, but also to understand her. To… find closure.”

He was silent at that. He’d hoped for more.

“Of course,” he sighed, suddenly exhausted despite the coffee burning in his stomach. “...And there was nothing of Ferdinand?”

The way her eyes softened put his hackles up instantly. “I—no. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry, Hubert,” she said, the apology akin to rubbing a cat against the grain.  
  
“Apologies are unnecessary. I am only being thorough,” he said in monotone.

“Hubert...” she said, pity sharp as a knife in his ribs.  
  
“ _Enough,_ ” he ground between his teeth, hands clenching at his desk. “You’re dismissed.”   
  
“We all miss him, Hubert!” she countered, slamming her fists on the desk and standing over him, only to have him stand in turn and loom over her with baleful eyes. “We miss him, too. We will be getting him back.”

His jaw clenched so tightly he felt like he would crack a molar. He took a deep breath, letting himself deflate with painful slowness. “I… appreciate your intent, but my feelings on the matter are irrelevant. We will only pay what Ferdinand is worth.”  
  
“You are allowed to wish for your partner’s return, Hubert. To hide such feelings is unhealthy,” she soothed.

How they’d wound up in his personal hell — talking about his feelings, talking about _Ferdinand_ — he didn’t know. But, damn him, he’d grown soft for the Eagles. They were his best agents, some of the only people who asked after the Emperor’s shadow with anything other than fear and derision.

It was a mercy she didn’t touch him. “We are here for you, Hubert. We know how hard you have had to work in his absence and how much you must miss him. Please know that we care,” she said as if it were a plea. For what he couldn’t say.

“I understand,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

She stepped back, to his infinite relief, her spine straight. “Are there no more questions, Hubert?”

He shook his head. It had been a long shot. “No. I was simply confirming what options were available to me,” he sighed. “You can return to Dorothea and Bernadetta. I will send for you there when needed.”

“I will send them your love,” she said.  
  
“Do what you will,” he replied, shooing her away as he sat back down.

He took a moment to savor the quiet of the dawn through the window and fixed himself another cup of coffee before making his way to the rookery.  
  
It was a daily affair for him. He would be the first in the morning to turn his key in the lock and check the birds for messages as he scattered feed and fed the carnivores among them. Perhaps a dozen, a reasonable amount for the day, although one bird caught his eye.   
  
It was a dove, a little light gray thing with soft purple eye markings that could be missed for a pigeon at a first glance in the sea of ravens and the occasional eagle, with something attached to its leg: a sheaf of letters bound together with Yuri’s seal.

He quickly freed the poor thing of its burden and spread seed around it in thanks before placing it in his coat pocket with his moleskine over his heart.

He would take it to Linhardt’s lab to examine it for any foul play. Yuri was, after all, not an allied party, that much had been proven in Petra’s report, but he didn’t send anything unless it was important.

The door to the laboratory was unlocked, which grate at his already fraying nerves given the prisoner he knew to be inside. He pushed open the door without so much as a knock. “Linhardt!”

The damned silence revealed nothing, nor did the empty room, so he walked over to the small medical suite where the curtains were closed around its solitary cot only to find their lead crest researcher tasked with preserving the life of their monarch sleeping peacefully while his prisoner Marianne sat in a chair nearby.  
  
“You may wish to move,” he said before giving Linhardt a ringing slap to the head which made him jolt upright, filling Hubert with malicious glee.

“Ow. What was _that_ for?” he asked with barely a crease in his brow as he rubbed the back of his head.

“It is now morning, and you have a job to do,” he grated, walking back to one of the central tables in the lab. “What progress have you made?”  
  
“In regards to…?” Linhardt started, stretching as he followed after and put on his lab coat and tied his hair back.

“Do you have any leads on your theory of crest origin?” Hubert asked, somehow keeping his tone diplomatic as he gestured towards Marianne. She’d been captured two years ago, and while her noble status had ensured she would be treated respectfully, her crest made her of particular interest to Linhardt’s research. She’d been invaluable, to hear him say it, in understanding what caused crests to form along with how to remove them.

Of course, that meant trading her for other prisoners was non negotiable. She would remain in Enbarr.

He had no doubt that Claude and the Goneril woman he kept as a lieutenant would press for her release and more in exchange for Ferdinand. They would need to use her as well as possible in the time they had left. None of the prisoners they would get from western Faerghus would be quite as promising.

“More potential links to the demonic beasts,” Linhardt yawned as he stretched his arms. “Cross examination of Marianne’s testimony, eyewitness accounts, and folktales suggests something we might recognize as a ‘beast.’”  
  
“And what does that _mean,_ Linhardt?” he pressed impatiently.

“It _means_ , Hubert, that the progenitor of her crest turned into a demonic beast,” Linhardt said, levelling him with heavy-lidded eyes . “It _means_ even people with crests can be turned. It _means_ that the mechanic that creates demonic beasts is directly linked to crests and potentially their overuse.”

Frost crawled down his spine. “We have agents out there at this very moment using relic weapons,” he murmured. Then he sharpened his gaze and bored into Linhardt’s. “Do we pull them back?”  
  
“No, not yet at least. From what I’ve been able to extrapolate, when crest bearers use their matched weapon, it takes a long time for the magical discharge to reach a point where it has permanent effects, and even then it requires consistent use. Imagine a poison that only becomes dangerous after it reaches a critical level, and which the body flushes out naturally with time. If someone with an unmatched crest were to do the same, though, they’d last only a bit longer than someone without any crest at all before turning,” he confirmed seriously. “Marianne was very frank about the progenitor of her family, and by all accounts he used his abilities whenever the opportunity arose, and that’s why he’s the only known crest-beast.”

Hubert grasped his chin, deep in thought. This was valuable information. “What do you recommend, Lin?”  
  
Linhardt looked properly pensive for once, eyes gleaming with interest. As much as Hubert hated when he was unavailable for entire days, he knew it often stemmed from hyperfixating completely on a subject and forgoing sleep. The man was a genius, albeit an eccentric one.

“Well, if I had my way I’d examine everyone’s weapons more thoroughly, see what I can learn about whatever is causing the corruption,” he said with a shrug. “A cure seems like a pipe dream, but learning more about the building blocks of the beast change is definitely going to be important to cleansing people of crests.”

He sighed through his nose. “I’m sure the Emperor will not miss Aymr terribly for a few weeks. She shouldn’t be seeing combat herself, after all,” he said seriously. Linhardt nodded at that.  
  
“ How very generous of you, Hubert,” Linhardt said as he crossed his arms. “I suppose it’s going to cost me something first, though .”   
  
“ Indeed,” Hubert said as he reached into his pocket and produced the letter . “I have something for you to examine. A missive. I do not suspect poison, but the sender is not trustworthy enough to be allowed to reach the Emperor’s desk without precautions.”   
  
Linhardt blinked at that. “Sure. Shouldn’t be too hard,” he murmured before giving another cracking yawn. “I might even be able to get more sleep before breakfast.”

“I think it more likely that you’ll sleep through it,” Hubert said as Linhardt took the papers into his hands. “So no.”

“Whatever you say, Hubert,” Linhardt replied as he procured a cloth mask to cover his nose and mouth and put on a pair of gloves as he brought it over to one of his experiment tables.

The faith-based arts were something Hubert understood in the abstract — only a fool wielded poisons without keeping an antidote. His skills were lacking, but if he knew precisely what he was healing, he could be of use. The diagnostics Linhardt was capable of, however, were well beyond his and most mages’ reach. His hands glowed in the light of the morning sun streaming through the window, his gaze unflinching as he ran his hands over the length and breadth of the missive.

Given a few more moments, the glow dimmed and Linhardt took off his mask and gloves, outstretching the letter in obvious offering.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Linhardt said, handing it back to him. “Well, barring earth-shattering information, but I suppose she’d have to find out sooner or later if that were the case.”

Hubert took the package, returning it to its home by his heart. “Thank you, Linhardt. I’ll draft a request for Emperor Edelgard to pass Aymr into your care as soon as possible. You know what’s at stake, so please do your best to find out what you can.”

Linhardt said nothing, looking back to his desk with a frown marring his features. “Yeah. I’ll figure something out.”

Hubert nodded and turned on his heel. He had other duties to attend to still.

This standard check-in had given him a breakthrough he hadn’t expected, but he was nevertheless pleased as he made his way back to his office to ensconce himself within a fortress of paperwork and go piece by piece through the correspondence.

Reports were dull, Hubert nor anyone else tasked with reading them would deny it, but it was a necessity. His spy network was vast, and it was only with an eye that spanned the continent that he could see the plots and plans of the Empire’s enemies. From Sreng to Enbarr, Nuvelle to the Throat, he needed to know as much as he could. He refused to fail his liege. He would do his duty no matter what it demanded of him.

Even if that meant reading over reports of market movements in Leicester or the failures of Faerghans in the disputed territories struggling to stay fed as winter pressed on, how their stores suffered, and how Cornelia made no effort to assist. Western Faerghus would fall before the spring thaw.

All that was left was Yuri’s letter. He pulled it out, placing it down and glaring at it distrustfully. He broke the seal, the protective wax-paper unfolding slowly, as if it had been imbued with the dramatic streak of its author. On the outside of the letter itself, a note was pinned:

_Hello Hubert,_

_I know you’ll read this, what with being the Emperor’s eyes and ears. But I think maybe you should let the Emperor use her own eyes for this one_ _. Even I haven’t seen what’s in it. Just leave this letter on her desk and leave her to sort things._ _Only she can decide what to do with it_ _._

_♥, Yuri_

He could only scoff at the ridiculous heart he scribbled next to his name. Honestly, one of the best spies on the continent and he had such ridiculous affectations.

The request was a strange one, though. Was this some sort of personal letter, then? Nothing else really made sense. Yuri understood how his position worked, his duties to his Emperor.

  
What information would he not be entitled to that Emperor Edelgard was? He was her left hand.

A moment of thought brought him to a grim conclusion.

Professor Blythe.  
  
It had to be. He had read Petra’s report, had been told how desperate she had been to speak to her, even going so far as agreeing to step into what any cautious person would see was a trap just to see her again.

She had written her a letter, and a thick one at that, and that made worry knot in his chest.

He could burn it. He could burn it and protect his Emperor from the woman who had haunted her dreams since that day all those years ago. He could burn it and let her think that there was nothing else there between them.

She would despise him forevermore if she found out, and he would deserve it, of course, for making assumptions about what was good for her.

Perhaps he wouldn’t forgive himself either, but his feelings were unimportant. Edelgard was everything. She was the Emperor, and he was her loyal agent who had sworn his life and all that he was to her. She was the closest thing to family he had now. He knew how committed she was to her goals, how far she’d go for the sake of peace, justice, and an end to the machinery that ground her people into the dirt.

She would make herself the monster just so the people would have something to overcome.

...Perhaps she deserved to see the letter. It could bring her some measure of solace to hear what the woman she loved and who had been lost for so long thought of her and her efforts.

In this one matter, even Hubert could not truly know the Emperor’s mind. A childish, petulant part of himself hated that fact, but his Emperor deserved to have sacrosanct places safe even from him. 

With leaden fingers, he picked up the letter, suddenly seeming much heavier in his hand, and unlocked the adjoining door that led into the Emperor’s study. He placed the letter atop her desk and turned from it before he could second-guess his decision. As he locked the door behind him, he hoped he’d made the right decision.  
  
The rest would be up to Edelgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the wheels keep spinning... what will happen next? Stay tuned. Thank you for reading.
> 
> If you'd like to say hello, or perhaps read some noncanonical smut, come join us at https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm ! Please keep in mind, it's an 18+ server. On account of the smut.
> 
> Also, here in the real world, it's currently December the 18th, so Yuletide celebrations are in full swing. We're going to be busy during the hols, so don't expect a new chapter until the new year has arrived! May you and yours be safe and happy during these strange times.
> 
> Cheers!


	43. The Beauty of Beasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blythe finds out. Maddened, she seeks out Dimitri. Things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... today was a weird day, huh? Have something to take the edge off.
> 
> Also, I have no idea what's going on with the formatting in this chapter. If you see runaway periods, or weird spaces, that's not us. I've checked repeatedly and there's no actual typos, the formatting for Ao3 just... did that. Sorry!

Sleep would not find Blythe in the room.

It was far too cold alone. Even with the blankets and pillows, she tossed and turned. The dark and the backs of her eyelids could only blind her when only deafness would save her from a howling mind.

The room felt like a mausoleum she daren’t disturb even to chase out the dust and cobwebs, for even they were reminders of her brother as he pushed her further and further away. She bit back a sigh. Such thoughts were unworthy of her. He was busy, they all were. This war was bigger than them all, so she had no right to complain like she was.

Garreg Mach had gone from being her haven to a cage. Everyone was too busy for her even as she felt herself breaking apart. She had to trust their duties truly were so important, or else… she didn’t know what. She was starving, and her only friend was in a prison cell.

Now it was far too hot to sleep. She needed to step out.

Winter, for all its faults, did offer her one unique benefit though: the cold deadened smell. There were no overpowering trails blinding her nose, leaving her dizzy from the overload. The echoes were easier to manage.

There were scents of soldiers and clergy, of the guards that still yet patrolled in these late hours, but everyone she knew and loved had come and gone, long since turned in for the night. All save for her brother, and… Claude. Odd. Their scents trailed off in the same direction.

...No. They couldn’t — _he_ couldn’t —

She abandoned all sense of decorum and pressed herself against Claude’s door. Petrichor. Petrichor, _juniper_ , and nag champa all seeped under the crack like smoke from a house fire, and it was fresh. Gods, it was _fresh_ , they were _in there._

It felt like she was no longer inside her body, only observing herself from some point beyond. Her chest rose and fell with shuddered breath and her nails carved little half-moons on the inside of her fists as she stood up and stumbled backwards to the opposite wall. Her mind screamed as it cracked under the strain of a thousand evil questions that demanded answers while her hand clutched her face.

He… he wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_ . He _promised,_ he— he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do it right after they… right after she tore herself open. It was impossible. It had to be. She was missing something. He was only there because he was scared to see her again and Claude had invited him. It was simple.

Desperation drove her to the door once more, her nails leaving marks in the wood as they dragged down and turned the knob. And there in the darkness, she saw them, Claude and Byleth, curled together in bed, skin-to-skin and swathed in the unmistakable stench of sex.

It made her want to gag. She had to leave. Now. So she closed the door heedless of whatever noise it made and scrambled back into the snow in a desperate bid to get away. 

Her skin crawled, her stomach lurched, her chest burned _..._ What could she do in the face of this? She could not stand by. 

When she came to, she found herself surrounded by walls of snow. She lay curled in a melted hole, all the way down to the dead grass. She was still so hot. Part of her wanted to just fall into another snow drift, but it seemed a waste of time. She should be cold, but it was as if the snow had melted away and her uncertainty with it. The heat felt right. If no one would keep her warm, she would warm herself.

So she stood, stomping through the snow that melted beneath her feet as they carried her where she needed to go.

Byleth had made his decision. To question why was not productive. Now was the time to act, balance the scales, and free him of distractions. Claude was better for him, even she could see that beneath the simmering rage that tinged her vision with vivid color, and if Dimitri refused to see that and continued to be a waste of time and resources, she would deal with him.

The blizzard meant little in the face of her simmering determination, and when she stepped into the cathedral, her steps clicked sharply in the din as a preamble of a much angrier storm.

It only made her blood boil to see him there ahead of the pews as ever, this specter that even Byleth had finally left behind. The wound on her heart bled sweet, transformative heat, but it afforded her the clarity to see that even as it hurt her, this was best for Byleth, who broke himself so foolishly against this man who refused to be saved.

“You’re late, Professor. How unlike you,” Dimitri started, but then stopped, his eye widening in surprise as he turned to see her. “...Oh. Professor Blythe.”

Outside, the wind continued to rage and swell as the storm within her continued to build, the temptation of unleashing it alone threatening to set the builders back yet even more months.

But she would hold for now.

“I’m surprised at you, Dimitri,” Blythe said as she clenched and unclenched the taloned hand at her side. “In all your time torturing my brother, not once did you see a scale? A darkened nail? A sharp tooth? Perhaps you don’t know your Professor as well as you thought you did.”  
  
He bristled at that, standing to his full height to loom over her. “I wouldn’t _torture_ him if he would just leave me alone.”

“I don’t care,” she said, examining her nails. “What have you lived through that deludes you into abusing the people who love you?”

He may as well have growled like a rabid cur. “I never asked for his help, nor anyone else’s. This is my punishment alone.”

“And yet we are here when even Dedue has abandoned you,” she observed, eyes unblinking as he slammed his lance into one of the pews.  
  
“Don’t you _dare_ speak his name! He gave me everything he had to give!” 

Ah, there it was. In his scent, there was rage, sorrow, a guilt overwhelming like tar staining everything it touched. “He gave you everything. Your life for his.”

The beast’s shoulders sagged as he backed away, bowing his head as he turned. “Leave me,” he ordered, though it sounded more like the plea of a hurt child.  
  
“No. Not until you make a decision,” she said, her eyes sharp enough to sink blades into his back. “I care little who lived or died in your life, only that you are harming that which is mine, and I grow tired of it.”

“I’ve told him time after time to leave me be, and he refuses! The decision is his own,” Dimitri said with a tight frown as he gripped his lance so hard that it creaked. “I can’t take his hand. This is my penance and my punishment.”

  
Blythe tilted her head up curiously at the hulk before her. Not so tall as some, but broad enough to make every inch feel all the greater. “So you spit in the face of Dedue’s sacrifice. Why?”

His baleful glare was answer enough, but not satisfactory. She wanted to hear it.

“Dedue gave his life for you, did he not?” she asked, inhuman eyes boring into his. He nodded slowly, as if ever degree of motion were pulled out of him with pincers. “Then, you spit on his legacy. A good man died for your sake so that you might live, and you let yourself become little more than an animal for, what did you call it, penance? So instead, you have decided to _stop_ living and become a savage, alone and unloved, pushing away the people who care about you out of some twisted form of self-loathing.” 

She kept her voice still and level even as she felt the currents of Dimitri’s emotions growing more erratic, but she would continue, if only for her own sake. She would get her answer one way or another

“He died to give you life, and instead of living, you barely exist at all, only a shade haunting this world. I’d think it sad if it wasn’t personally inconvencing me.”

The tinge of soot in his scent was almost intoxicating to her in the moment, the schadenfreude something she’d rarely allowed herself to feel as it rained down and coated everything it touched, and he could see the fallout and the black on his hands. At least someone felt chagrin suitable for their sins.

But still, he remained silent, only looking at her with something in his eye that she couldn’t name, and that made her blood boil.

“My brother has been too kind with you, it seems,” she said as she unsheathed her sword.

She slammed its point loudly against his breastplate, making him step back and shocking him out of his reverie as instinct won out and placed him in a battle-ready stance.

“I could just kill you, you know,” she stated, walking through the pews with her blade leveled directly at Dimitri’s chest as he followed her every move.

She darted like a gadfly, pricking and poking at him, with Dimtri parrying with his lance and gauntleted hand at every turn.

“Why would you do that?” Dimitri asked, face unreadable in a way that only drove her sword arm harder.

“Because he’s finally given up on you,” she said as he blocked another swing. “He found someone else. You chased your most stalwart protector into another man’s arms.”

It would hurt him, it _had_ to hurt him. He needed to know of his mistake, and this was the only way to get him to see. The pain would make him understand. The pain would change him, transform him as it had changed her.

She raised her arm over her head. “He left us both alone,” she said as she brought the sword down against his lance, the clang ringing out through the cathedral for everything fell silent save for a few shallow breaths that clouded in the cold.  
  
When she turned her gaze back to him, she met that singular blue eye that felt as though it would pierce through her in a second without a thought and wondered if her brother had felt the same. It could be over in just one strike, but something stopped him, something that she couldn’t see in that blue.

“My death won’t bring him back to you, Professor Blythe,” he said finally, the level timbre of his voice quiet enough not to reverberate into the loft beyond the disarray of the pews, and suddenly she knew what had held his tongue as it sat in his gaze: pity. “It won’t bring _her_ back, either.”

A white-hot lash of rage cut through what remained of her calm veneer and blinded her.

She leapt at him like she was an animal, claws out and hissing as her sword clattered to the floor _._ “What do you know!? _”_ she screamed as she struggl ed to break the hold he’d gotten on both her arms, fangs bared. “What do you know about my pain!? I fought, killed, and suffered, and I never stopped giving! I did everything like I was supposed to and they still left! I am _nothing_ like you! ”   
  


She struggled against his ironclad grip, but his gaze was unflinching as she fought. “You decided to fall, but I did everything right! They’re supposed to care about _me_. So why…” 

It was like the heat had left her entirely, the cold filling her empty husk instead, and as she slowly ran out of energy like a wind-up doll, she sank to her knees and felt so very small.

“Why does the world conspire against you when you work so hard to be good? Why won’t anyone recognize how hard you try?” echoed Dimitri from above her as he slowly let her hands go to fall limp to the floor. “I don’t know either. Perhaps I fell down here because at least then I was getting what I deserved.”

When she looked up, despite herself, she saw a person she understood perhaps too well.

“Why don’t they love me enough to stay?” she murmured hopelessly.

“I don’t think that’s the reason. They are giving all they have to give, and have nothing else to offer. Your brother thought you strong, and saw me as weak, so he prioritized. This war has taken something from everyone.” He huffed, a humorless smile on his lips. “It even took him away.”

His words washed over her like warm water and good sense, something she was unprepared to receive from the man she’d built up as a cruel beast who’d slowly drained the life out of her brother.

“...Why are you humoring me?” she asked, exhausted. “I don’t deserve this. I came into this cathedral fully prepared to spill your blood on the marble.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair in an echo of a habit he’d formed long ago. “I suppose even a beast like me can’t turn away a kindred spirit. Perhaps even as I am, I would still sooner heal than harm.”

She could only stare up at him from where she sat with a clarity she didn’t know she’d retained when the heat left her. “...Despite everything, you’re still a good man, Dimitri. I think you should keep trying.”

Dimitri looked down at her for a long moment with an unreadable look on his face before he reached down and grabbed her by the armpits to lift her like a rag doll so that she stood in front of him.

“You shouldn’t give such kind words from on your knees,” he said, though he failed to meet her eyes.

“I mean it. I misjudged you, Dimitri,” she admitted, shamefaced. “I suppose it is easy for me to forget that you had to live through five years of this hell while we slept.”

He shook his head. “Your life is not mine. You have fought with all you have. Do not belittle yourself. You have done more for the war effort in your short time here than I have in five years.”  
  
How… awkward. This was the first person to compliment her in what felt like months, and from _Dimitri_ , a man she’d quietly hated for months, stewing with jealousy that she was realizing was unfair.

“You survived a coup,” she reminded gently. “And yet you survived. You would have done everything in your power to protect Dedue.”

“I should have been stronger. I’m a beast,” he said with sudden heat as he stomped over to one of the pews, and with a delicate movement, he reached forward and crushed a portion of it, reducing it to little more than sawdust in his hand. “I am a Blaiddyd with the monstrous strength that united Faerghus, and yet I could not protect one man. What do you call that?”

“Someone who lost someone they loved,” she said. Just like Edelgard, who was just as lost to her. “Blaming yourself for a tragedy beyond your control is unfair and unreasonable.”  
  
He snorted indelicately. “Don’t speak to me of _tragedies._ I have lived my life in the shadow of it. I dedicated my life to ensuring nothing like it could happen again, and yet here we are.”

“You aren’t dead yet, Dimitri. You can still stop what happened to Dedue happening to anyone else. You— _we_ could make sure it doesn’t happen to my brother,” she said before the severity winded her.

Her most important duty shared upon another shoulder. 

“We’re both a pair of beasts who want to protect him,” she said, reaching forward slowly to touch one of his pauldrons with a clawed hand. “Because we love him.”

He didn’t look at her, instead staring severely at the statue of the Goddess that still stood behind the altar. “If it means keeping him safe, perhaps I can be at peace with being a monster.”

The memory of what she had seen earlier tugged at her just as she dared to walk that path herself. “Can you still do it?” she asked. “Love him even if he has someone else?”

This seemed to give him pause, but at length, he looked away from the statue. “Yes. My heart doesn’t know anything else.”

He understood, then. With a hesitant hand, she reached out, gently wrapping an arm around his side, staring up at the effigy of her aunt’s god. “Perhaps it knows one love, but do you think you could find room for a fellow beast as a friend?” she asked, staring firmly into the goddess’s face.

“...I suppose I could organize things. It’s a bit of a mess,” he said, almost casually as a hand slowly reached up to clasp the hand wrapped around him.  
  
“It’s okay. Mine’s hardly any better,” she said, smiling up at the goddess. “You could start with a bath, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay before anyone asks the coup thing was completely unplanned and unprompted.
> 
> We're back! Thank you for your patience and continued readership. As ever, comments and kudos are very much appreciated! ♥
> 
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	44. Holy Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolution is not an act. It is a journey one undertakes.

Dimitri couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a hot bath.

Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a bath at all really, ashamed as he was to admit it. But here he was in one of the only baths in the house that still had walls to keep out the cold.  He hated that he had  been considered important enough to warrant its use given the number of people at Garreg Mach. He knew that soldiers and knights alike were doubled, even tripled up in beds, not to mention the rationing in the kitchens that were only made worse by the Fódlandian winter.

He didn’t deserve it, though he was no stranger to shame. It was all that he had known in the pit of despair that had opened under him all those years ago. Though perhaps what he felt when he looked all his ghosts in the face as they named their grievances — his shortcomings and failures chief among his sins — was not shame but, rather, self-loathing. That he  _ did  _ deserve, though. The dead no longer had the luxury of dreaming, after all, and it was his fault they’d fallen into their eternal slumber so soon.

So he’d  submitted, allowed  them to take his sleep as they grew in number. It was only fair that he suffered to give them comfort.

They had demanded more, of course — they always did — and he would meet every one no matter the cost. It was  his only  penance.

He supposed somewhere in five years he’d started giving pieces of himself as well in one form or another. His skin had become a mottled tapestry of scars and welts as well as burns and bruises as they’d commanded his hand. As was their wont, after all, he mused as he shed his clothes and armor.

He suppressed a hiss when some of the newer cuts along his leg stung as he stepped into the water. The steam that wafted off the surface told him the heat was great enough perhaps to make anyone take a sharp breath in through the teeth, but his wounds were all filled with dirt, grease, and Goddess knew what else, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that it hurt. But he was no stranger to pain. He could bear this.

Once the rest of him was submerged, though, the heat instead became a comfort for how it seeped into his body and bade his muscles to relax. It coaxed his eyes closed, and after a moment, his breathing slowed and he took in lungfuls of… was it perfume?

The corners of his mouth turned up at the ends, the unfamiliarity of the gesture making him work parts of his face that hadn’t seen use in the better half of a decade, all at the thought of the one person who had come back to him, stayed at his side, and tried time and time again to bring him back into the light. And he smelled lovely, and evidently his routine had allowed his scent to seep into the bath house itself.

He didn’t deserve Byleth. He’d wanted nothing more in his academy days than to be near him, stare into his eyes, and— no. He’d lost the right to those thoughts the first time he’d turned away from hi m amid the shattered remains of the stained glass that had once overlooked the cathedral. Claude would be his peace now. Dimitri had been too late, and there was no one he could blame for it but himself.

Like so much else in his life.

But he would not let that be all he was. Serendipity had sent him a dragon-woman who spoke good sense and convinced him that he still had a purpose .

He would wash it all away as well as the soap would allow, even if it left his skin raw. Five years hadn’t deprived him of that at least . He would cleanse himself and try again.  The professor had  been quite enthusiastic  at the idea when Dimitri had caught him on the bridge and suggested it .  He’d even offer ed to cut his hair, which would be for the best if he was to have a clean start.

The creak of hinges brought him back to himself as the door to the bath chamber opened and then closed with a soft click as Byleth entered. Dimitri could almost feel his eyes on him as his feet padded quietly across the floor to the rim of the pool. There was the sound of something being set against the tile behind him and then a soft slosh as he knelt down.

“How is the water?” Byleth asked, his voice soft enough that the dribbling from the spring echoed louder.

“I couldn’t ask for better, Professor,” Dimitri replied, a small, bitter smile appearing on his lips despite himself.

“That title hardly fits anymore,” Byleth said  in an echo of something that Dimitri wanted to kick himself for , followed by the sound of a torrent of water as he wrung out a cloth.

“How else am I to see you, then?” Dimitri asked as he caught a glimpse of the professor’s green reflection in the water’s surface.

There was a silence that settled in the wake of the question, and the both of them were left to wonder. But, as always, Byleth had an answer: “Just someone trying to make things better.”

He said it so simply, so quietly, in a way that most people would attribute to shyness rather than the humility Dimitri knew it to be. It suited him, but he couldn't help but feel it didn’t  _ become  _ him. His professor was an awe to behold, a force of nature, a divine light that threatened to blind him if he continued to gaze at him.

Not that it would stop him, though.

His professor deserved to be held in admiration, to hold his head up in confidence in all the ways Dimitri himself couldn’t, prince or no. He’d failed his people too completely to hold  the pride such a title deserved.

“Fair enough,” Dimitri decided upon as he shifted in the water. “It’s more than I can claim to be.”

“Don’t say that,” Byleth replied, a subtle pain seeping into his voice. “You’ve done more than you know.”

Dimitri choked down a laugh at that, though he failed just short of convincing in that regard as well. “I’ve done nothing to aid those around me. I’ve done the opposite, in fact. To you most of all.”

“There’s no use worrying about me, Dimitri. Worry more about yourself,” Byleth said in return, the sound of sloshing water interrupting any sort of rebuttal. “Now tilt your head back.”

His body brooked no argument, obeying without thought or question as water washed over him, making him shiver a bit despite himself. It wasn’t even cold, but he supposed that the water he was in would make it seem so by way of comparison. All the same, he was a Faerghus native, and his people prided themselves in their winter, even going so far as to wade into the icy waters of the Kingdom’s lakes and coastal areas at the height of winter in the name of tradition. While he himself had never participated, King Lambert before him had, but his father had truly been one of his people while Dimitri was… well, he’d been driven off that path when he was still a child. That Byleth saw something in him worth saving seemed futile.

That the pool didn’t immediately flood with dirt and muck but rather oil and soaps was something that Dimitri supposed he should be  thankful  for. He had once overheard some of the serving staff complaining five years ago about having to scoop out the filth that a group of students that he’d hoped in the name of the Goddess  _ weren’t  _ Lions had left behind, so he’d made sure not to skip the rinsing showers before he’d come in. A blessing of his recent lucidity, he supposed, given his bathing habits these past five years and lack thereof. One of the blessings, anyway. Though, at least when he’d been… feral, for lack of better term, his rage had allowed him ignorance or apathy that shielded him from  a certain form of guilt his conscience would levy against him,  like it was doing now .

Perhaps, though, he could allow himself to indulge in it for a time, even if he was undeserving.

“There. That should help,” Byleth said as he set the bucket back down without so much as a  _ clunk _ . Most people would have simply allowed it to fall to the floor, himself included, but, as silly of him as it was to notice something so minute, he’d seen that his professor treated everything around him with such care, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. ...Or perhaps he was merely reading too much into things, but so much of him was found in the details.

During their days at the academy, he’d noticed how even his penmanship had varied depending on whom he was writing to. He’d first noticed after Felix had expressed not being able to make out the letters on the board from where he sat, no matter where he sat. Dimitri had long suspected him of having had some sort of visual problem, but bringing it up had seemed… insensitive given the Fraldarius lineage. He hadn’t wanted to appear prejudiced, but Byleth had adapted almost seamlessly, something he’d done again when Annette had misread one word too many. When lecturing or marking her papers, he had ensured that his letters were separated fully in a way that reminded Dimitri of a book on lettering that his tutor had taught him from as a child.

It had been such a stark contrast from his natural penmanship that it had made his eyebrows shoot up when he’d first seen his own notes. Even simply calling it “penmanship” had seemed erroneous. To understand it as scrawl would have been more apt. He’d seen his notes a handful of times, and each time he’d been able to parse only pieces. What had been clear, though, was that he had undoubtedly been in a hurry to commit the thought to paper before it was lost to him forever.

His mind was a beautiful thing that always moved quickly from one point to the next before the rest of them had even arrived at the first, something that had been the difference between a close call and a slaughter on more than one occasion. Almost nothing evaded his gaze or his wit, and for that, Dimitri would always be thankful.

His poor heart had barely been able to take it when his professor’s attention had been turned to him, though, fool that he was. He’d taken to looking at him for as long as he could get away with during lecture even at the risk of being caught, but the thrill fell short of the notes that he’d leave on his assignments. Never anything like one would have dreamed, mind, but the praise in perfect script was enough to send him to the clouds.

Oh, but when he’d done well in class and his professor would reach up to ruffle his hair… He could never bring himself to be irritated that all the work he’d done in the morning had been undone. Byleth could do no wrong. Dimitri had been willing to give anything for those fleeting moments, and all he’d had to do was be diligent in his studies.

Would that it could still be so simple  once more .

“Alright, I think it’s been long enough,” Byleth said, drawing him back to the present. “I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

“Or course, Professor,” Dimitri replied,  his trust absolute .

Gentle hands moved over his hair, lightly pulling in places as Byleth examined it. He gave a thoughtful hum, and then came a metallic snip before a dingy clump of what had once been golden hair fell onto the stone lip of the bathing pool. Then came another and another…

He let out a  strangled huff, giving Byleth pause. “I must look a beast. Or  perhaps a fool.”

“No,” Byleth responded, his voice tender without coddling. “You just needed help.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he said before he could stop himself, because it was true. He shouldn’t have.

He was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of Faerghus. He was royalty, trained from birth to rule not just himself but his country, and had  failed at the first step once pushed out of the nest. He’d shamed his ancestors, and his beloved Professor who was too kind and too forgiving to see how he’d taken advantage of him.

“No one can do it all. Especially given all you’ve been put through,” Byleth said, his hands stopping where they were among the mats. “I only wish I could have been there for you.”

Everything he was saying was wrong, even if he was always right, but Dimitri didn’t have the heart to see him place the blame where it didn’t belong.  A proud part of him wanted to rear up, challenge his professor’s belief before he stifled it and  lean ed  back into strong fingers as they clipped and cut at his hair. He only wanted to help. There would be time aplenty for fighting later.

“You are here now. That is enough,” Dimitri said instead.

Byleth sighed above him, hands slowing until it almost felt like he was caressing his locks with smart fingers. “I suppose.” 

A shiver ran down Dimitri’s  spine as Byleth  slowly measured out his next cut while his  fingers slowly trail ed  up another lock and left  Dimitri to savor  each moment with eyes closed, the scrape of metal against metal as another lock fell so strangely intimate. He w ould trust no one else with blades so near his flesh or  be so vulnerable before them.

But before  the professor, he submitted readily.

“You’ve always had such beautiful hair, Dimitri,” murmured Byleth in that soothing tone of his.  “I’m glad for once that I’m making it better instead of messing it up.”

“I never minded,” Dimitri answered and almost immediately flushed a bit, and for once he was glad not to be looking at the professor if only to keep that part of him private still. “I’d be more worried about messing up yours. You look good.”

Damn it all. That was  _ worse _ .

“That is, you always take such care with your appearance,” he prattled on in a desperate attempt to salvage what was left of their conversation, but it was a lost cause. His mouth was moving without his own go-ahead, and with each word he could feel himself digging deeper still. Might as well drown himself now.

He could feel the timbre of his professor’s voice as he gave a warm chuckle. “Thank you, Dimitri,” he said, voice so fond that he was desperately thankful for the hot water so that he could blame his blush on something else. “I admit, I am still growing accustomed to  seeing my reflection .”

There was an uncharacteristic hesitancy to the cadence of his speech  that made Dimitri furrow his brow .

“...Why is that?” he asked and  immediately wanted to kick himself , ever a fool who could not leave things well enough alone.

“ Everything is so different. Not just my hair or eyes or anything that’s going on with my sister, but everything…” Byleth sighed, and Dimitri could almost hear his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your burden to carry .”   
  
“ I can help shoulder some ,” he answered, opening an eye to look up  to meet Byleth’s eyes . “It’s the least I can do.  If it helps to know , I... have spoken with your sister.”

The hands in his hair stopped. “What did she have to say?”

“She is struggling,”  Dimitri replied, courage and caution both springing forward from somewhere in him. This was important, though, so he wouldn’t question whence it came, instead continuing, “She’s hurt , but even a blind fool such as I can see  she shares your heart despite it. The two of you will make it through this as you always have so long as you open yours to her .”

“...Do I deserve to?” he asked, something naked and questioning in his eyes.  He was a statue in danger of crumbling, so Dimitri held onto that courage he’d found with all his might  to stop him from breaking apart .   
  
“It’s not a matter of deserving it. If you avoid her out of some secret shame, you  _ will _ lose her,” he answered.

Byleth flinched. “I’m not sure it’s a  _ secret  _ shame anymore. ” 

Dimitri smiled mirthlessly. “No. I suppose it’s not,” he said, and his courage left him. He closed his eye,  and once more the bath house was silent save for the sound of shears and the babbling water .

“ Are you happy?” Dimitri asked after a moment. “You and Claude? ”

The silence dragged on. It was an unworthy question, nor was it his business, but his heart disagreed. He needed to know if only because…  because he loved him. And if that meant he was happy at someone else’s side, then he would accept it. Just as long as he could keep his eyes in his life .

“It’s new,” Byleth finally answered, punctuating the statement with another cut of his scissors. “And complicated. But… for all of that, I wouldn’t change it.”

Dimitri felt in that moment in some sequestered part of his mind a lump of frost in his chest, melting and freezing  all at once . Byleth was happy, but not because of him. Byleth cared for him,  something that he should be happy for, but he found he was not. His professor loved another and left him wanting .

“Good,” he said,  more for himself than anything , through a throat suddenly parched. “I’m happy for you two.”

There was more silence filled with cutting, and then a final definitive click of scissors. “That should do it,” said Byleth above him, hands gently wiping away whatever little hairs might have escaped.

Dimitri slowly pulled away from the lip of the bath,  wading languidly as he got used to the feeling of it.  Lighter, but not as much as it used to. “It feels different than it used to. Before the mats, I mean .”

“I felt it was time for a change,” Byleth said as he put his things away. “You’re a different man now. This suits you better. ” 

Dimitri fought the urge to scratch at his head self-consciously. “You would know, I suppose,” he said, shy  anew . It seemed like the last thing that needed to be done,  but he was clean  all the same . He’d been shorn.  Now he would begin his walk back .

“May I see?”

A spike of adrenaline shot through him, and suddenly he began to feel self-conscious. “See what, Professor?” he asked, doing his best to hide the fear in his voice. And hoping that the suds in the water hid everything else.

Byleth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Your eye. ”

“Oh,” Dimitri mouthed, both relieved and yet fearful further. “Of course .”

The dread built in his gut as he waded back to stand before him, and his fingers fumbled over the cord that held the eyepatch in place. It had been so long since he had put it on — so long since he’d fastened the knot that it tore at the edge and fell apart at his fingertips — that the world felt wrong without it on. The cloth had been there since before the blood had fully clot, and it stung as it separated and exposed the old wound to the air .

The way his professor’s face crumbled at the sight  with a hand brought to his mouth to stifle a softly-breathed oh  that crawl ed out from his throat in some strange way hurt more than what he remembered of the wound.  He raised his arms as if to reach for  him before pulling back  as the pain sh one in his eyes.

“...That bad, is it?” Dimitri murmured  and averted his eyes — or what used to be eyes — to star e down into the water.

But then Byleth’s gentle hand was at his jaw drawing him back to his eyes, and Dimitri felt he’d never seen him so pained. “How did this happen?”

“It was what was demanded of my sins,” Dimitri said, his voice barely above a whisper .

“No, you did not deserve this, Dimitri,” he whispered fiercely  with one hand stroking  his face almost reverently  as he star ed into the pit of his wound.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, so quietly he was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

“You were comatose at the bottom of a ravine,” Dimitri scoffed, his love’s pity for a wound long scarred over failing to move him as the familiar cloak of darkness that he had lived in f ell back so naturally on to his shoulders. “There was nothing to be done. Dedue lost his life, I lost an eye. I’d have given an eye, an arm and whatever else if it would have saved him.”

His eyes clenched shut, and when he opened them again, they shone in a way that Dimitri couldn’t be sure was from tears but that reminded him of his sister’s under the pall of moonlight in the cathedral .

“I am sorry for that,” he said, each word carefully plucked. “You are right. It is foolish to mourn what could have been. I only… Oh, Dimitri.”   
  
The way he said his name stole his breath. The way he looked at him was like something out of his dreams. Goddess, he was so beautiful when he looked at him  like this ,  even if pained  or regretful…

He’d always  dreamt Byleth would tell him he loved him when he looked at him like that, but  those were the wishes of a fool boy’s heart . He swallowed around the knot in his throat.

“It’s nothing. A wound long healed-over. Don’t trouble yourself,” he said  in a voice  so weak even to his own ears.

“ Dimitri,” Byleth said, and he found he couldn’t keep himself from staring back into his bright eyes. “Let me shoulder some of your troubles, too .”

It was too much. The sincerity that shone through the green reminded him of the sun that filtered in through the cathedral’s vaulted stained glass and threw light onto his sins. It had been no wonder that the faithful deferred their gazes and bowed their heads for lesser offenses than a sinner such as himself was guilty of. It was a light he didn’t deserve.

But if his professor was willing, he supposed he could allow himself to indulge. Only a little .

“Of course, Professor,” Dimitri all but whispered and surrendered himself to caring hands .

With Byleth’s guidance, Dimitri sat in front where he could kneel down and reach him, filling him with guilty pleasure . “Tell me if it hurts, alright?” he said in that gentle tone of voice  with his face so close to his. He nodded once.

Byleth leaned over, reaching for a small bowl he’d filled with warm water from the bath’s faucet, soaking a cloth. “Please lean back,” he said gently, Dimitri acquiescing easily. He slowly and delicately ran the cloth up the side of face, then along the socket across what he could sense were probably ancient clots of blood. “Good?”   
  
“It’s fine,” he answered, as Byleth carded his fingers into his hair  and cradl ed his head  before gently clean ing the socket. It was noticeable, but not necessarily unpleasant.

“You’ll need to let this dry out in the air, alright? Try to keep your eyepatch off for the next day or two,” he murmured, mouth so near his ear. Shivers ran down his back at his touch, so gentle on such a sensitive part of him. “Alright?”

A hum of affirmation  as he  lean ed further back invite d him to do what he pleased. He kept still as Byleth oh so gently traced along his eye.

“It looks a bit better. Thank you,” Byleth said to him, so sincere it almost hurt him. He put the cloth into the bowl and then took his face in both hands,  and Dimitri could feel him staring down at him. He opened his eye.   
  
“I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again,” Byleth swore  with sharp eyes  as he strok ed his jawline. “ Not even you .”

“I should be the one saying that,” he rasped unbidden. “You’ve done so much for me already. I could never ask for more.”

“I would do whatever you asked of me if you did,” Byleth said as he brushed an errant lock out of his face .

Dimitri couldn’t hide his wince fast enough. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Professor.”

“I never do,” Byleth replied, and then — in what would be forever seared into Dimitri’s memory — leaned down and placed a kiss on top of his head,  which lingered long enough that he could feel the softness of his lips on his skin. “Stay in here and relax for as long as you need. ”

His head was empty, and before he could even process it, Byleth had stood up to make his way out, the door closing behind him with a soft click that echoed through the chamber, leaving Dimitri alone with scattered pieces of incoherent thought. All he could think of was the feel of his Professor’s soft lips against his forehead  and the thousand dreams he’d had which started there,  his mind desperately trying to imagine  how those lips would feel  against his own and how he would not be leaving the baths until he’d regained control of himself.

But over the sound of the water, through the heat and the steam, one thought rang out and resonated there : if the war didn’t kill him, his professor certainly would.

But then, how would it feel if they both came out of the war  at one another’s side.  _ Together _ . It was a worthwhile dream to fight for indeed.

Now he would have to see that it came true .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	45. This Next Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flayn sees a pack-member in pain. Flayn refuses to abide it.

The cold never bothered Flayn too much.

The blizzard had come and gone, leaving the snow drifts sitting in the sun to nearly blind her in their reflective intensity.

But for all that everything was cold and bright and quiet, she knew it was not as peaceful as it seemed.

The smells she’d followed around the monastery made clear that her family was struggling, and as a senior member of the pack, it was her duty to make sure they were well. Something had come to a head, it seemed, as she followed a thick, almost unavoidable scent that made a path from the dorms to the monastery — the unmistakable scent of coupling.

Flayn had done her best to keep her nose out of the romantic exploits of her family out of respect and politeness, but with the smell of juniper at her nose, she could not avert her eyes any longer.

Especially given the rust that lingered in her nose.

She found Blythe alone in the graveyard staring at Sitri’s grave with scales up her pale neck like a grim pox and a fully realized eye. She looked tired.

Flayn sat down next to her, hoping her scent could soothe her, but Blythe said nothing, merely standing after a time and beginning to walk. But all the same, she didn’t object when Flayn followed after her.

“Well?” said Blythe, voice calm and even.

“Well _what_ , cousin?” Flayn answered in a soft voice so as to not set her off.

“ _Don’t dance around it, Flayn. I look like a demon_ ,” she murmured in their tongue as she clicked her claws against her scales.

“ _You’re_ not _a demon,_ ” she objected strongly. “ _You’re_ maturing _._ ”   
  
“ _Into what?_ ” she asked, contempt dripping from her tone.   
  
“ _Into a full-blooded manakete,_ ” she stated as she skipped alongside her . “ _And while_ _humans might fear your scales, I think they’re beautiful!”_

“ _Others might disagree,_ ” Blythe grumbled as she did her best to trudge ahead.

Flayn bit her lip, discomfort evident. _“Could we talk about this somewhere else?_ _I want us to be able to be frank.”_

“ _Fine,_ ” Blythe answered brusquely. “ _Lead the way._ ”

It was a familiar walk up despite the makeshift stairs, but once they entered, she ushered them both in with all the quiet grace she could muster and wasted no time as she made her way over to her bed and patted her mattress like she had before they had fallen all those years ago.

Blythe sat down more stiffly than usual, but it wouldn’t stop Flayn from wrapping herself around her and rubbing her scent into her as best as she could. She felt a glimmer of pride upon feeling the tension in her loosen just at the close contact as she let out a low sigh before falling back further onto the bed with Flayn’s fingers trailing across her scales.

There was still the smell of rust, but it had grown muted now. Blythe’s eyes were closed from exhaustion, and Flayn’s heart went out to her as she held her and gave off as much love and warmth as she knew to give before she braced herself with a breath.

“ _What happened?”_ she asked, looking at her with wide, worried eyes.

Slowly, Blythe’s dragon eye opened and looked at her with a deadpan gaze. “Lost my temper.”

“ _And why was that?_ ” she continued in a soft voice as she actively willed herself not to grow annoyed.

“Bad surprise.”  
  
“What was the surprise?”   
  
“My brother fucking Claude von Riegan behind my back,” Blythe sighed through her nose before clenching her eyes back shut.

Flayn had to blink at that. It had been amusing watching the two of them dance around Claude back at the academy — their interests had been blatantly obvious, right down to their scents — but she did admit that she’d wondered why neither of them had acted on them before. How curious…   
  
“What do you mean by ‘behind your back?’” she asked, taking caution to ensure no accusation or anger would come through her tone. “...Were you two a couple?”

“...No. Byleth and I had an agreement. We both wanted him, but neither of us wanted to be without him, so, we agreed neither of us would pursue him,” Blythe answered with bitterness and yearning seeping into her voice and scent both. “And then he did it anyway.”

Flayn’s heart froze over, and it took all of her willpower to stop her scent from souring. Another betrayal? From pack, no less? She collapsed even more thoroughly into Blythe’s loose grasp and nuzzled at her throat as she offered nonsense sympathies. Blythe did not stir at this treatment, her body still as she stared up at the ceiling, but Flayn could tell sympathy was not what was sought, so she spared her breath on that matter at least.

Instead, she said, “That was a very cruel thing for your brother to do.”  
  
There was no disagreement voiced on Blythe’s end, so Flayn continued to hold her in what she hoped was a loving hold. She had to admit though that she was at a bit of a loss for what to _say_ to her cousin in the face of her horrible luck in romance. She hadn’t ever had anyone to call hers, nor did she have any siblings of her own, but if she did, she was quite certain she’d be livid.

After a long moment in the quiet though, Blythe sighed. “ _It was the best thing for him._ ”   
  
“ _But what about you? He betrayed your trust,_ _so_ _don’t you get a say?_ ” Flayn countered, unable to stop herself from objecting.

“ _I’ve already forgiven him._ ”

Silence filled the room, and Flayn felt pity despite herself. Blythe loved others to the point that it was hurting her, and her brother was no exception. It seemed more that he was becoming the rule even. But this wasn’t out of love, this was some sort of self-flagellation, martyr complex, or worse.  
  
This was something she needed to understand, and she needed to nip it before it flowered further.

“ _Pack is more than loving one another_ ,” Flayn began, making Blythe stiffen . “ _It is about fairness_ _and_ _mutual respect. Byleth should not have done that, and whether you want me to or not, he will hear of it from me and from Seteth both_.”

“ _It’s better this way anyway,”_ she said, her voice low and shaky as it fell into a murmur. “ _Byleth is beautiful_ _and a gifted leader, and_ _Claude deserves someone who can support him, not… some dragonling with emotional baggage_.”

“ _Is that what this is about?_ ” Flayn said, perfectly poised without a shiver of uncertainty in her voice. “ _Because you have matured faster than your brother?_ ”  
  
 _“I’m not_ normal, _Flayn, look at me. I can’t ask someone to deal with…_ ” she objected as she gestured to various parts of herself. “— _this_.”

Flayn shifted off of Blythe’s chest easily, her cousin rising to pout at the loss of contact. “ _Blythe, look at me._ ”

It was a freeing feeling to let her eyes narrow into slits, no longer needing to police herself around the unknowing. Her cousin had the nerve to look uncomfortable though, which made the part of her she hid rile up with intensity.

“ _Don’t look away from me, Blythe_ ,” she said as her nails sharpened and turn ed a milky white as pearlescent scales began to crawl up her fingers and wrists like climbing vines while the room warmed suddenly from the heat pouring off of her. The room smelled of a storm at sea, salty and lashing, but she refused to balk, only keeping Blythe’s gaze locked on hers as the scales crawled up the collar of her shirt.   
  
“ _I am a manakete, and so are you. I will not allow you to become ashamed of the beautiful thing you are_ ,” she said with the force of finality. “ _Anyone who would discard you for your heritage and your identity_ _and_ _thinks your gifts curses is not worth your time. And if_ you _discard your identity to earn their esteem, then I’m sorry to say you’re perhaps not worth ours.”_

Then she let the change eclipse her eye.

Blythe was silent, her face reverted to the unreadable mask she’d worn when she first arrived at the monastery all those years ago.

“ _... I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it that way,_ ” she said, suitably chagrined but all the same holding her gaze.

“ _I know it’s hard, and maybe I don’t even understand it very well, being between two worlds like you both are, but maybe that just means I can offer you a unique perspective,_ ” she stated, perking up. “ _Claude is a very sweet man_ _who’s been very interested in you two_ _. Why don’t you both claim him_ ? _”_

“ _No. That… would not work,”_ Blythe said, her mouth quirking into a confused frown.

“ _Why not?”_ asked Flayn, tilting her head curiously. “ _Father says that many romances had more than one person in Zanado. Humans are silly to think one person can be their whole world. We have packs, mates, and friends on top of that! We need many people to be our best selves, different people._ _Your brother seems to notice that on a subconscious level. ...Or more actively given his recent activities_.”

Blythe groaned and pinched her eyes shut as she pulled at her hair. “ _I do_ not _want to think about my brother in coitus_.”

“ _But you want to think about_ Claude _in coitus,”_ Flayn countered, sly and smug as could be.

“Flayn,” Blythe grunted, exasperated.

“ _Yes?”_ she asked while batting her eyelashes . She knew she was being a bit of an annoyance, but it seemed to be bringing Blythe out of her shell, which was what really mattered . “ _Honestly, Blythe, you can turn into a dragon, you’ll live thousands of years and the sticking point_ _for you_ _is two people loving the same person, or loving more than one? You have strange ideas about the world_.”

“ _It’s not about that,”_ she objected, a flush creeping over her un-scaled cheek. “ _I’d like that, but...Most people don’t feel that way. And I don’t think my brother does either. It would be unwelcome, and presumptuous_.”

“ _Have you spoken to them about it?”_ Flayn asked, Blythe shaking her head in response, leading Flayn to sigh.

“ _Blythe,”_ she said, a soft reprimand creeping into her tone. “ _The both of you need to talk to one another if you want to stop hurting each other’s feelings so much. You’re pack_ and _family. You aren’t making_ _coping with this new world_ _any easier for one another by swallowing your objections and_ _just_ _hoping things will_ _get better_ _.”_

Blythe said nothing at that, instead simply holding her closer, which Flayn supposed was fair.

“... _So what’s this about changing me back?”_ she asked, in the most obvious topic shift she’d ever heard.

“ _You have shifted more_ ,” Flayn answered, allowing her to save herself from the embarrassment. “When it was just your arm, Father and I thought you still had growing to do before you could learn to control it, but I think it is time. We can teach you to do as we do.”

Blythe seemed unconvinced. “ _...I have the control for that?_ ”   
  
“ _No, but you_ can ,” Flayn enthused. “ _I promise, it’s not as hard as you’d imagine. Just think: your arm had nearly faded completely before, and you hadn’t been doing anything at all!_ ”

Blythe furrowed her brows. “ _But then it came back_.”

“ _Listen_ ,” she began again as she reached forward and grasp ed her scaled hand in her own, pale green and snow white. She stroked her hand gently as she spoke. “ _You have had a trial, Blythe, that’s plain to see,_ _but_ _there is no enemy at the gates forcing you to bottle this up. We can help you take the time to come to your own conclusions about your scales, your brother, Claude, and whatever else might be bothering you_.”

“ _I suppose_ ,” Blythe sighed like someone who’d resigned themselves to settle, making Flayn’s heart ache anew.

“ _But that’s all later_ ,” she said softly as she nuzzled back into Blythe’s collar, a smell akin to sand meeting her nose. Not ideal, but a start. “ _You can stay right here until you’re ready_.”

Blythe let out another shaky sigh, something like earth in her scent for a bare moment. “... _What if I don’t want to go back?”_

Flayn sighed, put-upon. “ _I know it’s hard, but it won’t all go away. Not without work. So take it gently, but_ do _take it_ _. Caring for yourself_ _won’t_ _weaken you_.”

Blythe offered a wordless noise of acceptance at that.

“ _So_ _stay here with me tonight_ _and_ _get your thoughts in order. I’ll get us some fish,_ _and_ _we can have a nice meal just the two of us, if it please_ _s_ _you,”_ she coaxed as best she knew how. “ _And then when you’re collected, we can go find your brother_.”

There was a long silence at that. At first Flayn began to worry, but the blossoming warmth of green, growing things returning with spring wafted into her nose as Blythe said, “... _I suppose I could stay a bit longer_.”

Flayn grinned with all of her teeth and nuzzled into her neck with new fervor. “ _Wonderful!_ ”

She would help her pack, no matter what it took. Their joy was her joy.

  
It was all she could hope that they saw it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but a necessary one! If you want to complain about short chapters, come find us at our Discord! https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm
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	46. The Sun Also Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt tries to sort some shit out. It goes alright, he guesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out to Ferynn for helping us find the exact words to describe a specific facial expression. Don't ask.

Even in good weather, the rime high up the mountain s Garreg Mach sat nestled in crusted everything like spices on a steak Jeralt couldn’t afford.  Especially if the cook had dumped the entire shaker onto the top by mistake. Or something. Fuck, metaphors weren’t his thing. Leave that shit to someone else .

But hell , he hated winter campaigns. There was a reason he’d never gone to Faerghus during the cold months once he ’d had the kids. As a Knight, he didn’t have much of a choice, but it was a miserable experience he didn’t want to inflict on his mercs, or anyone at all  for that matter . If some nobles in Faerghus were so damn mad they wanted to fight in the snow  and get gangrene, then that was their problem, not his.

This time,  though , it  _ was  _ his problem. Jeralt looked at all the Easterners used to temperate weather  to get ready to march through the dead of winter with him and it was... an experience. Some of them were wrapping scarves like it was their first time. 

He sighed. He’d done all that he could do. He’d packed them with enough rations, warm bedding, and supplies to keep these greenhorns alive and reinforce the  Galatea line once they found them  and hoped that they or experience would catch up with them before the frostbite set in .

But  _ shit _ , the reports were bad. Whatever was going on, they needed all the help they could get.  Stalemates during the summer don’t hold up once winter comes .

The horses were bundled up better than the men in some of the more stubborn cases which would solve themselves once they realized no amount of bravado would keep them warm  after nightfall.  Faerghus winters didn’t take anything except humility and a bent knee .

Well, at least there would be a lot of spare gear lying around by the time they got there .

All told, it was a nice problem to have, having a few wagons of spare supplies to drag through the snow. He wasn’t used to having such a surplus of gear. Yuri had been busy after Adrestia ransacked the place,  and now so was the Riegan kid with bringing them back to fighting shape, which he had to grudgingly give thanks to the little shit s for he supposed. He’d learn to like it later .

The roads at least were looking somewhat manageable from what the scouts  reported, which was good . They’d need to take  the long way around to avoid the worst of the Adrestian and loyalist troops, not to mention the worst of the snow, but it was what it was . They’d get there one way or another,  and the more of them they still had on the other side, the better .

He looked over the troops who’d taken up the old knights’ hall as they packed their supplies with a tired eye. At least they seemed well-trained, which made sense. Some of these poor bastards had been fighting  since before the onset of the war, but they weren’t quite at the level of his own Knights . 

A bunch of soldiers who’d never had cold weather training going to the frozen tip of the continent, but at least they knew which end of the spear to point and which way to run… he’d done more with less.  He’d take ‘em as long as they took orders .

And he had Byleth. He walked along, micromanaging the soldiers, fixing coats, advising more or  fewer layers, how to thermoregulate with thick clothing and all that shit he frankly didn’t want to do,  but someone had to. And he couldn’t think of a better second-in-command for that .

Even for him, though, he was really putting his all into making sure every damn soldier got his personal touch instead of just trusting that the right way to do things would circulate after showing a few of them. That wasn’t like him  for all he cared about efficiency.

It figures,  though. His grounding was gone . He’d seen Blythe walking around like a kicked dog  and Flayn worrying over her like a mother hen. He could smell the trouble brewing from a mile away. With Byleth leaving with him tomorrow  though, either that rift would continue to widen and become a permanent thing, or it would all come to a head, and he wasn’t sure which of those would be worse. They’d always been close, and even though they’d had smaller fights in the past, this was new .

How much if it had to do with these talks Blythe was having with Seteth and Flayn, though, he couldn’t say . He didn’t know fuck-all about the dragon shit they all had going on, but it didn’t take a genius to see that  Blythe was getting less… scaly, so it must be helping at least .

The way Seteth put it, though, it almost sounded like a treatment but with tutoring or something . He was  mum on the details , but he’d served Rhea for half a century,  so what else was new . 

It was good that someone was working with them, though, for as out of his league as this whole… dragon thing was. He was trying to be laid-back about it. Rhea had kept him alive for more than a century and could turn into one, his kids had gotten green hair and started growing scales,  Flayn could sustain mortal injuries and heal after a week-long nap… no point losing his head over it, but  better to let an expert help him out if he was gonna get his kids through all of this.

Whatever Byleth was going through right now, though, he could handle , so he shook himself  out of it , walk ed over to his son,  and plac ed a hand on his shoulder.

“I think he can figure out how to tie his scarf, kid,” he teased gently, pulling him back from the millionth soldier he was teaching.   
  
“It’s better if he keeps himself warm,” Byleth objected softly. 

“I get that, kid, but you’ve taught half the battalion  by now . He can ask one of them,” he countered gently, giving him a pat on the back. “C’mon,  we have other stuff to do .”

With slow movements Byleth stepped back, letting Jeralt guide him where he pleased. “What did you need me for? We’ ve already discussed the marching orders and ensured the supplies were properly divvied up.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, all that’s handled, kid, just wanted to make sure everything was good with  _ you _ before we skipped town. It’s gonna be a long time before we’re back, and we might not see your sister for a while,”  Jeralt said. “And I don’t think I’ve ever had you guys away from each other for more than a week at a time.”

The way he stiffened at the mention of his sister told him a lot, as did the way he seemed to close himself off. “Everything  will be fine,” he said quietly as they walked. “ It’s nothing that will get in the way of my duties.”   
  
“ Hm, I think there’s more to it than that , kid. I’m not blind. You two have been on the outs. Wanna  tell your old man about it?” he coaxed gently as he l e d them away from the barracks.

“It’s… personal,” he managed  while sounding like someone was pulling a tooth .   
  
“Yeah, I figured since you two ’ve never act ed like this before. Look, I don’t want you two to leave each other for the first time ever with all this shit floating between you,” he explained as  they walked into the courtyard that Rhea’s office used to overlook where Seteth and Blythe were  speaking out in the snow.

Byleth stopped completely  when they met eyes .   
  
“I know you, kid. You’ll let this sit and fester if something doesn’t make you face it, so that’s what’s happening. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he said  and practically shov ed him  stumbling towards them .

But the two of them just stood dumb and mute there in the snow .

Seteth was the first to speak up. “Jeralt. Thank you for coming.”   
  
“It’s all good. Thanks for the help,” Jeralt answered, finally letting go of Byleth with the both of them standing stiff and awkward like spooked deer in torchlight.

Thank the Goddess for Seteth and his manners for the second time in a minute, coughing into his fist . “Well, I trust you to have things well in-hand, so I will return to my other duties in the mean-time. Listen to your Father, you two, he’s an intelligent man.”

There was something about the way the cold wind buffeted at his furs as he left that made Jeralt feel… some kind of way he guessed. He’d look at that a bit later, though. This shit was more important .   
  
“Well? I know I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I know it’s going on,” he asked,  his voice edging on a gentle but stern tone he hadn’t really needed to use since they were teenagers . “Got something to say, Blythe? Byleth?”

It was Blythe who finally ended up breaking the silence. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” she asked, words falling out of her mouth in their haste, but Byleth winc ed as  though he’d taken a wound.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth managed, face scrunched in displeasure, mouth forming words he didn’t say. “I... It was my fault.  I have no excuse .”

Blythe stood silently, hands fidgeting with each other  as she avoided looking directly  at him . “It’s okay.”

Byleth shook his head firmly. “No, it’s not, and I don’t want to pretend it is. We made a promise, and I broke it. It was not right of me, and I’ve been too  much of a coward to even admit it to you, knowing full well you knew.”   
  
Blythe’s eyes grew wide at that. “So this whole time… it was because you were scared to talk to me? I was so sure you didn’t want me  around anymore, that  you’d rather be around everyone else …”

“What? No!” Byleth objected with alarm, taking a step closer  as he reached out for her but decided against it. “No, never. I just… I betrayed you r trust. I thought me being around would just remind you of what I did .”

Some of the pieces started to fall into place for Jeralt as they kept speaking, and  he guessed it made sense. With the war, the dragon shit,  and even the teaching before that, they’d been starting to branch out more as their own people,  which was new for both of them. These were growing pains of two kids taking their first steps — and missteps — as adults, and he’d done a bad job of preparing them for that. 

The two of them were both shy in their own ways  and had their difficulties engaging depending on the  scenario . Blythe could own up to mistakes easily and was always the one to step up and take the blame between the two of them  but had trouble asking for help. She  didn’t want people know ing she needed it, and the only one who helped her was Byleth because he was the only one who could  read her tells .

But with everything changing, that codependent link between them was falling apart,  which would hurt, but it would be necessary as they matured. Bones that heal badly have to be rebroken to heal correctly .

“ Why do you think I’d ever want  you to stay away, By?” she asked,  her voice strangled  like she was holding back a flood. “The last thing I wanted out of all of this was for you to leave me behind .”

“ I wasn’t meaning to,” Byleth murmured as he started to fidget with the straps of his gauntlet. “I didn’t even stop to think that you needed help until the bridge .”

Blythe was silent at that, clutching at her hands  as her eyes darted about. “I figured. I ’d hoped you’d notice  even with all the work you were doing, which was childish of me,” she sighed, voice growing wobbly. “I’d told Bernie once she needed to tell people when she needed help, but I  suppose I should ta ke my own advice.” 

“No one takes all of their own advice,” Byleth offered gently  as he brushed back a lock of his hair . “I know you. I understand. We both could have done better.”

That seemed to make the tension in her back loosen. “I was afraid that if I came up and asked for help you’d see  everything that was wrong with me and think I was too much trouble.”   
  
“I’d  n ever  just drop you like that ,” Byleth  said as he furrowed his brow.

Blythe shook her head almost frantically. “No, of course not. Just… you’ve been so busy, and I saw you with Claude, and Dimitri, and preparing for the war, and… for a moment, I believed it. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I should have had more faith in you.”

“Well, I didn’t do a good job of assuaging those fears either,”  Byleth said as he  ran a hand through his hair again. “ We march out tomorrow .”

Byleth didn’t nod, but he did clench his hands behind his back as if he was about to make a formal offer. “Well… you will be spending plenty of time with Claude soon enough. He and I  talked a lot already,  but perhaps it would be good if you spoke to him as well. I  don’t think he would  want to lose you because of  all this either.”

Blythe seemed thoughtful at this. “You’d… be alright with that?”   
  
“He’s the one who suggested it. He... “  Byleth said and looked away for a moment as if holding his tongue. “I think it would be good if you both talked .”

“...Okay,” Blythe answered softly  as she nodded. Her eyes turned down for a moment before looking back at him . “Byleth, I also wanted to say… I’m sorry. Even if you didn’t know what I was doing, it was unfair of me to make you choose between me and everyone else. That was immature of me, and I’m sorry.”

Byleth shook his head. “Think nothing of it. We both made mistakes,  and we’ll learn from them and grow.”

That part about Claude he didn’t quite get, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “That’s a bit better, isn’t it,  yeah ? You both made mistakes, you’re both sorry,  and now you’re both on the mend,” Jeralt said, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. “Now why don’t you both go and enjoy your day and talk things out a bit more, huh? I’m sure your tea set is still out there somewhere.”

Two smiles met his eyes as they nodded .

“Good.  I never really  _ got  _ tea, but I know you two like drinking that leaf water, so go have fun ,” he said  and ruffl ed both their heads,  which earned him varying amounts of playful annoyance, but it was his right as a dad to bother his kids . “Love you both.”

“ Love you, too, Dad,” they both said and waved him off for what he assumed would pass for high tea in a ruined fortress, leaving him to his ale and whiskey .

He was glad to have that sorted. A shiver reminded him of the cold that the overcast sky brought before he stomped off through the snow  and ma de his way to the partially restored building that once held Rhea’s chambers.  He took a deep breath . Despite everything, once they closed off the drafty parts, the smell of the lacquer came back good as new.

It should have stayed dead as far as he was concerned, but he supposed fair was fair. That lacquer meant they didn’t have to restore any of the load-bearing structure s or much of the innards.

Not that it mattered . He was a man on a mission and he made his way all the way back up to the top floor and what were once Rhea’s chambers. A swift knock, and a voice bid him enter, reveal ing Seteth  and Flayn at the desk speaking in hushed tones.

“Hey boss,” he called amicably with a raised hand.   
  
“Ah, Jeralt. Welcome back,” Seteth  replied with a polite smile on his face. “ I’m guessing everything went over well ?”

“ Yeah, they’ll be fine . You know how kids are,” he said with rueful fondness. “They’re just growing up.”   
  
“I had a feeling it was something like that,” Flayn mused  as she folded her hands in her lap like a lady . “Those two are still learning the finer points of communication.”   
  
“You’re not wrong,” Jeralt agreed  with a half-shrug . He could never quite figure her out. He knew she was probably much older than she seemed, but it was weird talking to someone who looked the part of a young teenager  who spoke in the cultured tones of an academic. He doubted he knew half the shit she did.

But then,  he had a century’s worth of experience being an adult, and he’d learned a thing or two of his own . “Hey, Flayn, the twins were saying they were thinking of having a tea party before Byleth left. Maybe you could go find Lysithea and have yourselves a going-away party.”

It worked almost  _ too  _ well for how her face lit right up . “Oh, really!? They haven’t had tea in ever so long, that sounds wonderful! I’ll go find Lyssie right away! She’s probably in the library…  Thank you, Jeralt !” she cried, clapping her hands happily before running off in a blur of green curls.

Jeralt couldn’t stifle his chuckle. “She’s got a lot of pep, that one.”

Seteth smiled too. “She is my little light,” he said  in a voice low and warm.

It was obvious how much he loved her, and it made something in his chest clench fondly.

“So, I was thinking…” he began, scratching at the back of his head awkwardly. “The kids’re  busy with their tea party,  and everything’s pretty much set… Maybe us adults could have one of our own.”

“ Oh? I didn’t know you cared for tea , Knight-Captain,” Seteth said, almost coyly. Or maybe he was just imagining things.

“ Nah, not really . They all love their leaf water, but I’m more of a beer and whiskey  kinda guy, and I don’t think I’ve ever uh, well, y’know,  it’s been a while since we really talked over a drink, y’know? How about it? Probably won’t get another chance for a while,” he said  as he crossed his arms and gave another shrug .

Seteth  gave a thoughtful hum . “Well, while I doubt  I could drink the legendary Blade Breaker  under the table , I don’t see why we couldn’t have  one last chat over spirits. Yes, indeed, why not?”  Seteth said like he’d talked himself into it .

“Oh! Good! Great. So, uh, my place or yours?” he asked  and immediately want ed to leap out of the window. Goddess’s blood.

Seteth scrunched his nose. “As much as I respect our knights and soldiers, I’d prefer not to drink in the barracks .”

He snorted at that. “Don’t give ‘em too much credit, they have me leading them. Your place it is.”

Seteth stood with a put-upon sigh. “Honestly, Jeralt, you’re the  Knight Captain . Self-deprecation just sounds silly coming out of your mouth,” he chided gently  as he breezed past him. “Come on then.”

“What, do you keep ale in your chambers?” Jeralt said with a snort as they walked down the hall .

“Naturally,” Seteth said as they reached his door. “ Can’t leave the finest spirits to the rabble, after al l.”

Jeralt could only nod a concession to that. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. I don’t leave my liquor lying around either, and that’s just rotgut Yuri keeps handing me,” he said with a huff of laughter.

The look  Seteth gave him was singularly displeased. “Really, Jeralt? What have you been doing with your wages? You don’t need to live like this. Clearly I need to acquaint you with the finer things in life.”

As politely as he could manage with his bulk, he sidled past Seteth  as he held open the door for him to enter his surprisingly well-appointed rooms. It was nice. Nicer than his office, but not as nice as his rooms in the barracks. He gave a low whistle. “Not bad, Archbishop.”

Seteth gave an amused chuff. “Well, thank you, Jeralt. I’m quite fond of this place, despite it all.  I’m no Archbishop, though. I cannot claim to be fit to replace Rhea .”

He  could be, as far as  Jeralt was concerned.  He’d been the glue holding Garreg Mach together for as long as he’d known the man. Rhea never made a decision without lowering an ear to him first, even if she ended up not heeding him in the end. Goddess. He wondered how she was faring now without him there at her side.

Assuming she was still out there at all, anyway.

“Well, I digress,” Seteth sighed, bringing Jeralt back to the present, and gestured over to a pair of overstuffed armchairs by the fireplace  as he walked over to a cabinet nestled amongst some bookshelves. “Make yourself at home. ”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Jeralt replied as he  sank into one of the plush armchairs.

Seteth gave a polite chuckle as he bustled along, placing a pair of tumblers on the table before  putting some wood into the fireplace. It came to life with a flick of his wrist, bathing the room in warm light.

“There, that’s better,” Seteth said  with a smile like he’d done something impressive or something .

“You mages,” Jeralt griped without heat. “You don’t know how good you have it, not needing to carry around a flint and tinder and all that rot  while the rest of us are banging rocks together.”   
  
Seteth walk ed back to the cabinet and look ed over the glass bottles gleaming in the firelight. “I’m sorry for your misfortune. Were I your camping partner, I would save you the trouble.”

“Well, thanks for that at least,” he chuckled awkwardly, holding up the tumbler he’d been given. It was glass, finely made, no imperfections to be seen. It was so nice he put it back down and took off his gloves to make sure he didn’t scratch it accidentally. “So what’s on tap?”

“Hm… perhaps a proper Faerghan vintage. If you encounter some on your travels in the region, perhaps you can buy me a bottle in recompense,” Seteth said as he reached into the cabinet and pull ed out a stout bottle sloshing with dark liquid.   
  
“Oh, I see how it is. You  want me run ning errands while I’m  up north ,” Jeralt teased, looking on curiously as Seteth poured them both a few fingers’ worth.

Seteth smiled  as he took his seat . “Ah, you’ve caught  me . My diabolical scheme  to reinforce my spirits cabinet  is foiled once again .”

“I’ve been used for  worse ,” Jeralt said, only half-joking. He picked up his  drink and studi ed the dark liquid in the firelight  before holding it up . “ Well , cheers, old friend.”   
  
“Cheers. Old friend.” Their tumblers clinked together, and they both took a sip of their drinks.

“This stuff’s dangerous, Seteth. I could drink a bottle and hardly feel it,” he  chuckled . “ Might as well be honey. Definitely better than anything you can scrounge up from Abyss .”

Seteth smiled, showing a few teeth. “I’m glad you can appreciate it, though perhaps you should refrain from drinking a bottle,”  Seteth said  and took another sip with much less fanfare. “ You have an arduous march ahead of you, and it wouldn’t do for the commander to be hung over .”

The fire caught him beautifully. Shadows danced along the planes of his face,  and his eyes gleam ed in that  unnatural way dragon eyes did. For a brief moment, he felt as if he’d fallen into a fairy tale. The grizzled mercenary was invited into the dragon’s home and offered fine drink and finer company.

“I haven’t had a drinking companion that wasn’t Rhea in quite a long time,” Seteth mused  into his drink.

That he hadn’t had a drinking companion in half a decade went unsaid.

“What’s she like with a drink or two in her?” asked Jeralt, trying to keep things from souring.

An amused huff escaped Seteth’s chest . “You had to be careful with her. If she had her way, it was never just one or two. She never got the chance  to , but she loved to let loose. The Archbishop’s robes chafed her more than she let on.”

“Yeah… Rhea’s complicated that way. She hid it well, but even I could tell after a few years that she didn’t enjoy her work,” Jeralt commiserated. “You always seemed more at home among the paper forest of Rhea’s desk.”   
  
Seteth snorted at that  as he took another drink. “ A necessary evil. But it must be done, I suppose .”   
  
“I  get that ,”  Jeralt said with a nod . “I hated doing the accounting for the mercenaries, but it’s one of those things you’ve just gotta do or else everything falls apart.”

Seteth  lips pressed into a grim smile . “Just so. Rhea was a gifted leader in many ways, but the minutiae were unquestionably not her strength.”   
  
Jeralt took a fortifying drink of his impossibly smooth whiskey. “And now you’re doing your job and hers all at once. You say you’re not the Archbishop, and that might be true technically, but I think everyone in the Church knows who’s really in charge, and it’s not some cardinal.”  He leaned forward . “Are you handling it okay?”

He took a drink of his own, his face falling. “I understand better now why Rhea wanted to abdicate for all these years. It’s too much, and it’s hard to know what the right answer is. Flayn has been invaluable, and you as well, and the twins have been worth their weight in silver, but it’s all so much.”   
  
Jeralt grunted in acknowledgment, but said nothing. He reached for the bottle and gave Seteth a few more fingers of drink. 

“I thought the minutiae were the hard part, but Rhea… all this time, she had to make these difficult decisions with no right answer, and just _live_ with them, for good or ill. It’s exhausting,” Seteth sighed, saluting Jeralt with his glass before taking another drink.

“Being in charge means shouldering the blame, even if no one blames you for it,” Jeralt said solemnly. “Even if I win a conflict, I’m still the one who has to bury my soldiers and make peace with  all the blood spilled. Being a merc is simple when you’re just swinging a sword, but when you really think about why you’re getting paid…”  He downed his drink in one hard gulp. Seteth had the bottle ready before he’d even put his glass down to refill it. “...Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it. Leadership is a terrible burden,” the man sighed. “I would  rather fil e forms than  do any of this.”   
  
“Yeah. Not many people are built for it. Blythe’s a good commander, but she’s not a leader the way Byleth is,” Jeralt said  as he swirled his drink around in his glass . “It’s not something you can teach.”

Seteth gave a hum of agreement therein. “Byleth has been invaluable. I’m sorry to see him go to the front. If I could, I’d make him Archbishop myself.”

Jeralt had to laugh at the absurdity of the image. Byleth in Rhea’s vestments and giving mass… what a crazy thought. “Well, he’d like dressing up at least. No idea where he got that from.”

The other man hummed thoughtfully. “In truth, even Sitri was not terribly interested in clothing or style… The most I can think of is that she liked to help Flayn dress when the monastery held balls and so forth. But, he is his own person. His hygiene and fashion clearly make him happy, so what’s the harm?”   
  
“Oh, ‘course, I’m not saying it’s bad, just  that I don’t get all that stuff. You’re lucky if you get me to shave every week or two, y’know?” Jeralt  said , gesturing to his stubble as evidence.

Seteth smirked at that,his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Yes, I and everyone else in the monastery is well aware of your lack of hygiene.”

“Hey, I bathe!” Jeralt said. “Just not as much as Byleth. No one does.”

He was met with a fond roll of his eyes. “Calm yourself, Jeralt, I  was only joking . Despite your scruffiness, you at least practice basic hygiene when you can.”

“Damn straight,” Jeralt  pouted as he took a sip of his drink.

It was odd talking about old hurts like this and not feeling the pain like he used to. Losing Sitri had been one of the hardest things he’d ever gone through, maybe even the hardest outright, but Seteth as a widower, too, had all the steadiness of Garreg Mach itself. They’d both known and loved her in their own ways and understood how amazing she had been, but neither of them wanted her legacy to be sadness.  Even if some scars would never heal over .

He shook himself back into the present, hastily trying to regain himself with another sip of whiskey.

“Fuck me but this is really good whiskey. I know I already said it, but it’s true. This is top shelf.” 

Seteth huffed once more. “Well, I can claim no part in its creation, but I thank you on the maker’s  behalf , I suppose.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who bought it, kept it, and shared it with me, so, I mean…” he trailed off a bit awkwardly, taking another sip of his drink for courage. “I guess that makes you a pretty top-shelf person to me.”

This made Seteth’s eyes widen curiously,  and then his gaze gr e w much more intense. “If you enjoy the top shelf so much,  Jeralt , should I expect  more such effusive compliments?”

Jeralt blushed at that, and he hid behind his glass. “Well, I mean… it’s not like I make shit up about you. I’m just telling it like it is.”

“Oh? And what do you tell people about me, then?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and wearing an enigmatic smile as shadows danced across his face. 

Jeralt’s mouth was left drier than it should be after a drink and a half when he watched  Seteth take another  casual sip. “Well… you’re smart. And hard working. You’re great with the kids, too. Don’t know what the twins would’ve done without you and Flayn to help them with their… their scales and stuff. And I mean, Flayn’s a peach. You did a great job with her.”

Seteth said nothing to all of this, instead reaching for the bottle  and pouring him a few more fingers. When he finally spoke, it was to say, “I could argue the same of you, Jeralt,” he said,  holding his gaze . “Your children are extraordinary, and so are you.  That’s no coincidence .”

“...Thanks,” he murmured i n lieu of anything more eloquent . “Don’t really know what to say to that. I mean, my life’s not what I’d have ever imagined. I’ve been forty for almost a century, my kids are dragons, I just… I did what I could,  even if it didn’t always work out .”

When he put his glass back down, Seteth did something he didn’t expect: he reached a hand out, placing it atop his own, skin to skin. “You did all you could. Your children are special, and you did not know how or why. You trained them to be fine warriors and fine people. No one grows up without flaws, and you should not blame yourself for  it . I have been alive a long time indeed, Jeralt Eisner,  and in all my years I have met precious few like you. You are a good father and  an even better man.”

There was nothing Jeralt could think to say in response . He wasn’t used to praise and had never been good with words. He was a man of action. So he plac ed his other hand atop Seteth’s  and strok ed a thumb over his knuckles.

“I just want ‘em to be happy,” he said softly  as he stared down at their intertwined hands. “They deserve more than I could ever give them.”

“They are our future, Jeralt. They deserve the world,” Seteth  said as his hand clenched his, and  Jeralt could feel the worn calluses he never thought a man like him would have along his palm, his fingers… a warrior’s calluses.

...He had to  know .

“ How’d your hands get like this , Seteth? You a swordsman or something?”   
  
“Lancer, actually,” he corrected. “Though I know I don’t make it known, I  _ am _ still the wyvern riding instructor.”

“ Well I’ll be damned . Dragon rider, lancer, Church official…  aren’t you just a jack of all trades ,” Jeralt teased  as a smile cr ept up onto his grizzled face.

Seteth smiled  in kind and lean ed forward just a bit. “And you, the legendary Knight-Captain, Blade Breaker, father to dragons, swordmaster and more,” he said, his voice low and smooth and warm, much like the whiskey he’d been drinking. “ Though, I don’t think I’m the one who quite has the title of  _ dragon  _ rider .”   
  
“ No? Then who does? ” he asked, the liquor giving him the courage to say that without blushing.

“Hm, I think we could make an educated guess,” Seteth all but _purred._

“ Oh yeah ? I’m trusting you on that,” he said before taking his hand back, downing  the rest of his glass , and grabbing Seteth by the scruff to press  their lips together .

Kissing another man was new for him, but he wasn’t a complete idiot . He knew attraction when he felt it, and he knew he was attracted to the man in front of him. It was a bit scratchy, a bit uncomfortable  with beard on beard  and Jeralt half-leaning over the table,  but as Seteth tensed and loosened under his touch, their lips  began moving against each other slowly and gracelessly. He’d be willing to bet Seteth was just as out of practice as he was. 

When they pulled back though, they were both gasping and flushed  with Seteth across from him  and holding a hand to his forehead.

Jeralt chuckled and cracked the first genuine smile he’d had since stepping into the room . “Been wanting to do that for a while.”

Seteth said nothing to that, simply finishing his own glass instead.

“You… okay?” he asked, fingers of dread beginning to crawl down his spine.

“Quite,” Seteth breathed  as he ran a hand through his hair . “Just… a bit surprised is all.”   
  
“Look, I’m sorry if I—”   
  
“No, none of that Jeralt,” Seteth cut in,  his voice steadier now. “You were responding to signals I gave off intentionally. You were not misreading the situation.”

Jeralt blinked . “So…”   
  
“ _ So _ , I do, in fact, find you desirable, and evidently you feel the same,”  Seteth replied with a small smile  as he squeezed the hand in his grasp. “Perhaps, when you return… we could explore this further.  I do have an entire cabinet filled with spirits for us to try .”

“Liquor and fine company, how could I refuse?” Jeralt said  with a curt laugh . He didn’t say so, but the liquor was the last thing on his mind as he stared as Seteth, still wreathed in firelight, the flush only making him even more handsome.

Seteth nodded slowly at that. “So come back to me. I’d hate to let this go to waste,” he said,  and Jeralt wasn’t quite sure if he meant the liquor, the relationship, or maybe both, but whatever the case,  there was a newfound determination beginning to swell in him that would bring him home when everything was said and done. Nevermind anything lower .

“Hey, you said it yourself, have a little faith. I’ll freeze my ass off, fight some loyalists, and then I’ll come back,” he said, grinning crookedly  as he squeezed Seteth’s hand. “That’s a promise.”

Seteth nodded once more, that smile on his face again  that seem ed to shine in the firelight. “Good.”

Jeralt allowed himself to hold his gaze for a few moments more before he pushed himself up. “Well, I guess I should finish prep and get some rest .”

Something in Seteth’s eyes fell, and then he nodded. “Yes. I suppose so.”

When Jeralt took a few steps towards the door and grabbed the handle, though, a hand closed gently around his wrist and bade his own to lace their fingers together.

Goddess damn him.

It took everything in him just to turn around to face Seteth as he placed his other hand to his cheek and brought their faces together again, this time with softer lips and gentler tongues.

“Be smart and be safe,” Seteth said once they parted and squeezed his hand.

“I will,” Jeralt replied as he pried himself away. He allowed himself one last glance back, and then closed the door behind him to make the trek back to the barracks.

He couldn’t stop the weary sigh that escaped him as he ran a hand down his face. Faerghus was starting to look more and more like some far shore, and who knew how they would fare once they got there even with all the drills they’d run and preparation they’d made. It wouldn’t mean much if the Kingdom turncoats had done  _ more _ .

And they marched out into the unknown at first light tomorrow.

  
This was going to be one long campaign .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so much for reading! We hope you enjoyed, and we appreciate you sticking with us as the twins act like dinguses and so forth. Comments and kudos are of course well appreciated!
> 
> If you'd like to say hi or read some deleted scenes, secret smut and other nifty stuff, why not pop by our server? https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm It's 18+ because of the smut, though, so be advised!


	47. Pages and People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard tries to withstand the weight of her duties, with a little help.

The ride to the Varley estate was not one that Edelgard had seen fit to take  since the advent of the war .

With a heart freshly skewered, she was not in the best state of mind. Recent events had reminded her of the fragility which hid inside her, as if a cancer.

It was a fool who felt safe even this far away from the front lines, but then Edelgard was no fool. She knew her position as Emperor meant living her life with a target painted across her chest, and she’d gotten this far in life by ensuring that she took every path, every attachment, every small detail into consideration. An assassin could strike form anywhere.

And there were blades pointed at her from every corner of Fódlan. Perhaps even beyond .

Her hand felt empty without Aymr in its grip . She’d replaced it with silver, but being without it was a strange experience after all these years. Still, Hubert and Linhardt both had  insisted that lending it to them was of utmost importance, and she’d long since learned to trust their judgment .

She gazed out at her frozen country as it passed by,  at the homes and farmsteads standing silent but for billowing smoke escaping their chimneys. It had been a long winter for everyone.

Especially for her.  And there was more cold to come still .

The sun shone balefully  for once, daring to make an appearance between overcast days just to mock her with its brightness. The gauzy curtain across the window  would do precious little to offer her any relief. Useless .

She wished that she could turn it off, just turn  _ everything  _ off and sleep, but she couldn’t. Even now she was looking over the packet  detailing Varley's forces  from their troop movements, supply lines, morale, and everything she’d need to know for once she had a chance to speak with Bernadetta and Dorothea about preparing for spring.  They were capable commanders in their own right, but with Ferdinand gone, they would have to spread themselves thin. Anything less and they would be overrun, and the war would end before she accomplished what she’d set out to do years and years ago.

This war would be the end of her one way or another .

But despite reading the words on the page over and over until her eyes burned, all she could think of were the letters she kept in her breast pocket.

All she could think of was Blythe.

Edelgard did not believe in the Goddess or any greater power. Any god who would let what happened to her occur was not worthy of her love. But if it meant she could take away the pain in those letters, if it meant she could take Blythe into her arms and apologize, she would prostrate herself before any one of them.

It had been agonizing to see her love’s heart pour out onto the page unvarnished and uncensored.  She was a woman who had fallen through time, lost everything, and had found herself so terribly alone  while the world left her behind, and that what little remained to her was growing further away  still .

Some pages were stained  with little splotches distorting the ink in places. Tears.

She ’d wept when she spoke of Ferdinand. She ’d wept when she spoke of  _ her _ . She wept as she spoke of the children she’d lost, now enemies in a war she never wanted.

And it was all her fault. That was not dramatics on her part, it was the simple truth. She planned the war, declared it and prosecuted it. All the agony in those pages was  her doing .

Yet despite it, she sensed no hatred.  None. Rather confusion and despair at her decisions,  but over it all a desperate hope that she would recant, return to her, make things better again. There was no anger to her words, just a twisted, agonized need to understand what had happened to her, to see what she had missed and how to make amends,  to make  _ Edelgard _ better.

She didn’t understand it. She didn’t.

The woman she’d loved and left, had betrayed in cold blood simply… didn’t hate her. Didn’t begrudge her,  and that made everything she did hurt her more .

It would be easier if she hated her. Then she could be at peace with herself knowing that all the suffering she wrought in the name of something more would make the ending she knew would come for her fitting. She could die without regret. Her love would have her hurts vindicated at least. She deserved that much .

What perplexed her, though, was the note that had accompanied it. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d opened the parcel at first. It had fluttered down onto the carriage seat without any fanfare — she’d only seen it when she couldn’t bear to read anymore and her bleary eyes had skirted over it. It wasn’t signed, but she recognized the delicate script.

Professor Byleth had sent this, and Edelgard doubted his sister knew. She couldn’t begin to wonder the reason behind it. Some part of her wanted to be petty and believe it was to taunt her, but she knew the man better than that. He was quiet and thought before he acted, and psychological warfare was uncharacteristic of him.

No, this was something else, but what, she couldn’t say. This was a motive that was hard to discern . The number of reasons for why so deliberate a man would send a piece of his sister’s soul to her like this was so small  that frankly she had no idea what his intent could  be . She was no mind reader, but she’d have offered her  own teeth for the answer.

Distantly, she realized that her grip had tightened,  the paper crinkling unhappily in her grasp.

She couldn’t afford to get distracted like this. She had work to do. Adrestia had to come first.  Anything else was a waste of energy . So she loosened her grip and took a calming breath  before putting the papers aside  in favor of watching the scenery pass her by.

This wasn’t about her. This was for the people in those houses trying to survive the winter. This was so that they would have a chance to flourish, to be free of the system that ensured they would never climb higher than  their station and took from them as surely as it took from the nobles who thought they benefitted.  This was for the benefit of all . She had not started a war simply because  of her hatred for crests, but for the sake of th o se innocents.

Their pain would be worthwhile.  She would make sure of it . Even if all they knew of the war was hunger and hardship, even if they never understood the reason ing behind her actions  and cursed her for breaking the peace. To lose sight of  why was to become the tyrant her enemies painted her as.

Well. Perhaps it was too late for that.

Tyrant or not, she couldn’t turn back. To stop now  would render it all meaningless.

She wished Hubert was here, or at least Ladislava, but there was a reason she  was going to see Bernadetta and Dorothea, and it was important enough to move her out of Enbarr and further away from Thales’s spies  all the better .

They were close, she knew it. They’d find the hole he hid in, and then they would put an end to his foul existence  as well as all  those he called kin . Cornelia, Solon, every  last one of them. She’d  pull them  up by the roots, finish what  the Archbishop had started however long ago, and bring peace to the continent without dueling cabals manipulating them all  from the shadows . 

A humorless smile cracked across her face. The irony that she was picking up the torch of the woman she once believed to be her sworn enemy  was not lost on her .

A clattering tap rang on the window. “Emperor Edelgard, the Varley estate has come into view.”   
  
“Thank you,” she called back. Ah, well. It was pleasant to have some time to herself, but it would be better to see Bernadetta and Dorothea  even if the occasion wasn’t a pleasant one . It had been too long, and like with all the other Eagles, she missed them.  ...Even if seeing them with the one they loved would bring a pang to her heart .

She wondered who she could have been with someone like Blythe to nurture her.

The carriage arrived at the Varley manor in what felt like an eye-blink. At least she’d had the presence of mind to pack away her documents into their satchel  before an attendant opened the door  with a hand outstretched to help her, which she declined, instead grasping her axe as she stepped down  on to terra firma.   
  
Varley Manor was a fine structure, aged but not decrepit. It had been built in the time of Lycaon III and thus was more grandiose than it truly had the right to be, but all the same the Varleys had earned their position as the margraves  there on the borderlands .

It was enormous, and all Edelgard could do was follow the  serving staff up the grand staircase  past more halls than she’d have thought strictly necessary  before arriving in a sunlit room  with a table set for three with tea and finger foods.  The door closed softly behind her, leaving her in the gentle light of a winter afternoon .

The click of heels was her only warning there in the quiet before a pair of arms wrapped tightly around her with the courage only one person she knew could muster.

“Hello, Dorothea. It’s good to see you,” she managed over the strain of her lungs .

“ We’ve missed you , Edie,” Dorothea murmured fondly into her ear.

Slowly, Edelgard saw fit to return the gesture,  her hands flat against the other woman’s back  as she allowed herself to soak in the contact for at least a little while. Dorothea would allow it .

“You seem in good spirits, all things considered,” she said, finally allowing a smile to grace her features as  they parted .

Bernadetta quickly trotted over to the table  and sat down primly  as she wait ed for  them to join her. The rituals Bernadetta preferred  helped curb her anxiety,  and Edelgard even plac ed her axe at the far wall. She was safe here.

As Bernadetta reached for the tea pot  and pour ed them each a cup with easy grace. “I never forget someone’s favorite tea,  so I thought we might have some Hresvelg blend .”

That she remained in their thoughts touched Edelgard’s heart, making it swell, and as she picked up her cup, she found she was thankful for more than a steaming cup after a cold ride .

They all took  the time  to savor both the company and the tea, occasionally reaching for one of the delicate treats or sandwiches arrayed before them.

“So,” Dorothea began,  switching seamlessly into polite deference after finishing her finger sandwich. “I trust you’ve had a chance to look over our numbers, my liege?”

Edelgard nodded  as she placed her cup back on its saucer . “I have. You’ve both done a serviceable job holding the line, but without Ferdinand things grow more complicated. The negotiations to get him back are ongoing, but it’s unlikely we’ll have him before spring.  While I don’t foresee  any major attacks during the winter, I don’t doubt they intend to push the advantage his absence brings.”   
  
Bernadetta looked thoughtful as she sipped at her tea. “ Would they be willing to exchange him for Marianne ?”

“ They might ask for a ransom as well , but yes. It  could work . Lin has gotten what he needed  for his research  from her,” Edelgard  replied as she took a honey-basted dumpling  and savor ed its spiced, apple jam filling.

“Well, the line’s been pretty stable,  but the western border is unfortunately a bit too porous for my liking, even with Petra and her scouts keeping tabs,”  Dorothea sighed as she stuffed one of the dumplings into her mouth . “The Brionac Plateau, Arundel, Nuvelle… it’s just too much ground to cover.”   
  
“Well, Lord Arundel has not let anything through  at least , even if his military presence isn’t very noticeable…” Bernadetta noted, making Edelgard stiffen.

Arundel. The less she thought of that skin- wearing farce, the better. “All the same, even if  the Faerghan resistance is busy with Cornelia’s  troops , we can’t grow lax. The region is too wide and too open to be left unattended, even if someone is ostensibly keeping an eye on things.”   
She did not say that she questioned Arundel’s loyalty, though. That was irrelevant at this time. When the time came, she would tell them everything. She could not risk Thales catching wind of her plan yet. She hated lying to her Eagles, but it was for their own safety. She had to shoulder the responsibility of handling Thales herself, or risk terrible consequences she couldn’t entertain.

“And how do we do that, Edie?” asked Dorothea  as she sipp ed her tea.

“We hold,”  Edelgard replied with a grim face . “Spies have gotten wind of unusual troop movements from the Alliance near Garreg Mach. It seems they  are allowing some soldiers to go home for the season, but we need to stay vigilant. We have them on the back foot, but Claude  von Riegan is a tactical genius.  We’d be foolish to engage him on his own turf .”   
  
“What about the Professor?” Bernadetta asked.

The table grew still  with the silence  growing thicker until Bernadetta recanted with, “We all know what happened to Ferdinand! What if they push at our line? Can we truly hold against the both of them? We can’t split our forces when we have  _ them  _ at the gates. We trained under her, we know what she  can do ! I  just don’t think it’s a good idea to send a larger presence out west.”

Edelgard resisted the urge to frown. She needed to be strong. She couldn’t betray their faith. “It will not be the both of them at least. Hubert has gotten  word that troops  are heading north towards Faerghus  with the Blade Breaker and Professor Byleth among them.”

Then she broke protocol and reached for the teapot to pour herself another cup  and drain it in short order.

“Why do you suppose?” Dorothea asked as she nudged the pot close to her .

Edelgard resisted the urge to pour herself another cupful. It wasn’t as though the tea could provide the relief that ale would bring. She stifled a sigh as she straightened her shoulders . “I believe they are roving out  to mount a campaign against Cornelia .”

“Do you think they can do it?”  Dorothea asked with a polite frown that failed to conceal her worry . “The Blade Breaker and the Lions’ professor…  they ’d be able to unite all  the resistance cells and cause some real damage.”

“I’m counting on it,”  Edelgard said, taking care to phrase her thoughts carefully . “Cornelia has been useful to us, but her loyalty is not to Adrestia. Accounts call her a malicious despot,  and I have no need for such people in our new world. If she  dies as a distraction to two of the enemy’s finest generals as we prepare our next move, I’ll allow it.”

“But what  _ is _ our next move, Edelgard? Once they beat Cornelia, that means Faerghus  will join them at the front with the Professor, and the Blade Breaker, and…” Bernadetta said,  trailing off as she bit at her thumb until Dorothea reached out  and took it in hers before the two of them shar ed a meaningful look.

“Faerghus is out of the war for the foreseeable future no matter the outcome. They’ve been gutted by the civil war,  and the people will need time to lick their wounds ,” she said  as she took a pointed sip . “As to the Alliance and the Professors, leave that to Hubert.”

The two of them grew silent at that. “...Alright, Edie. We trust you.”

Then some silent nocked arrow was loosed and struck her heart, leaving he r cradling her face in her hands  as tears threatened to spill over , tea forgotten.

She didn’t deserve them.

  
She lied  and hid things from them, and still they trusted her. She betrayed the only woman who ever loved her, and she had forgiven her. People kept forgiving her and supporting her, believing in her, when she knew in her heart that she was the lowest form of sinner.

A miserable sound  crawled out from her throat .

“Edie, what’s wrong!?” Dorothea asked,  her chair scraping aside  as she reached forward and grasped her shoulders . She let out an explosive sig h , dangerously close to a hiccup, or perhaps a sob.

“...I don’t want to fight her,” she whispered  as Dorothea’s arms wrapped around her  and held her tight  as her tears began breaching the levee holding them back . “I’m so tired of this war, but I can’t  _ stop _ .”

Oh, gods, she was falling apart, but Dorothea’s hands held her like a vice,  so she couldn’t go break down in private.

“Edie…” Dorothea murmured as she  rested her head on her shoulder,  her cheek against her vicious crown  with horns like a demon, a bringer of suffering and despair.

“The secrets, and the death, and the pain, I put you all through so much pain, and for what?” she demanded of herself. She  _ demanded _ an answer from herself. “Why can’t I give you what I promised? Am I too weak? Is it impossible? Children were born, are being raised while this war is going on. Boys and girls enlisted and have been at war their whole adult lives, and for what?”

Bernadetta’s hand landed at her elbow. “Have faith, Edelgard. We follow you because we believe in your dream,” she said  with an edge of steel in her voice as she wrapped her arms around Edelgard as well. “I’m scared, everyone’s scared of the war, none of us want this, but we want a better future. And we’re ready to fight for it.”

“Bernie’s right,” Dorothea affirmed. “I was a street rat,  and look at me now, up here rubbing elbows with the finest. Under your rule, there’s a lot of upward momentum for people like us . We follow you because we believe in your dream, and we want it too. Your dream is our dream.”   
  
“But I take so much,”  Edelgard gasped out, completely unsure of how to respond to so much kindness directed at her. “I don’t understand. The things I’ve done, that I must still do, I should hang for. I can’t be forgiven.”

“We care for you  _ because _ that’s how you feel, Edie,” said Dorothea with finality. “We love you because you understand the price we’re all paying. No one is a harsher critic of yours than you are.”

“But you shouldn’t be, Edelgard. You’re the best of us,” Bernadetta added, holding her closer. “Whatever you might think of yourself, we know you only want the best for the world.”

She didn’t know how long they held her there, sitting in that chair in that sunny tea room. At some point or another her hands fell into her lap as they held her, and she stared out at the sky.

“I must look a sight,” she murmured  in a gravelly voice. “Forgive me.”   
  
“You don’t have to bear all that pain alone, Edelgard,” Dorothea said softly.

“We won’t let you,” Bernadetta said. “ Hiding your problems and  just makes them get worse and worse like I used to  do .”

Edelgard huffed something that might have been a laugh. “You’ve grown up, Bernadetta.”

“She has,” Dorothea said, pride evident in her voice. “And she’s right. You’re the Emperor, but that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder an entire empire’s  worries . You’re allowed to ask for help. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your people. Feelings like what you said earlier… those aren’t healthy, Edie. We need you strong, and it’s obvious these things have been eating at you.”

She sighed at that, posture loosening. “I can’t deny that. There are just so few people I can trust. It’s so important that I seem strong, untouchable. For many reasons.”   
  
“We understand, Edie, but you’re safe here,” Dorothea promised. “Now look, the tea’s gone cold, so I’ll warm it up, alright? Bernie made such a lovely spread, it would be a shame we didn’t finish enjoying our tea party, hm? I  _ know  _ you liked her honey-apple dumplings.”

“It’s true,”  Edelgard admitted ruefully, a small smile breaking through. “I give my compliments.”   
  
“ I worked extra hard on them since she knew you were coming,” Bernadetta  said with a blush as Dorothea’s hand passed over the wick  to ignite it  and allow the tea light to  steep .

“Well your efforts paid off. Thank you, Bernie,” Edelgard said with a smile before straightening up and rolling her shoulders back. She’d lost enough face here, and there was still business to attend to. “Now then, there was a point to all this, wasn’t there?”

“Indeed so,” Dorothea said as she set out the teacups anew.

“Now, about Ferdinand,” Edelgard began with regained confidence. “We’ll have much to do about him in the spring, and with your help, we can make sure it’s  _ with  _ him… ”

There was something about discussing war plans over tea that felt just a bit blasphemous, but at the same it made it feel trite in a way that made Edelgard miss her time at the academy before any of them had needed to consider such things. But there was no avoiding it as they continued to eat Bernadetta’s pastries  and refill their cups .

It was a pleasant non-distraction to be able to work, but Edelgard supposed it was all a credit to good company. She would allow herself to be immersed in it.

It would keep her from thinking about arrows and things that lurked in the shadows, but, most importantly, it kept her from thinking about the burning hole beginning to form in her pocket.

  
All from a simple stack of letters .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. You know, we were writing this one, and all I could keep saying was how I kept forgetting I wasn't writing a Rhea chapter.
> 
> It's almost like Rhea and Edelgard are two sides of the same traumatized coin, sacrificing their own sanity for the sake of their ideals and loved ones, or something.
> 
> They should have tea some time.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as ever! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> If you'd like to come say hi, or read some hidden, non-canon content like smut, and an upcoming tea party we never got to see, why not join us and say hello at https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm ?
> 
> Do say hello, though. I always get sad when someone joins and promptly doesn't say anything, haha


	48. Fiery Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar has a very strange mission and meets someone he never thought he'd see again.

Caspar wasn’t the smartest guy in any given room, he knew that. He’d made peace with it,  like , a long time ago. He wore heavy armor and swung  an even heavier axe, and that’s what  he brought to the table. Well, maybe he shouldn’t bring his axe to the table. Linhardt might have something to say, but that wasn’t here or there . Smarter people told him what to do,  and he did it.  Everyone profits !

So when Hubert sent him a letter personally, asking for help to go all the way to  _ Ailell _ , he knew that he needed a heavy to help him with...  whatever it was he needed to do in Ailell. Not sure he wanted to know what , but he trusted that whatever it was, it was  important .

All the same, he felt pretty out of his element  following a scout out to the middle of nowhere to some rando location only to find a hooded figure all in black  like something right out of the ghost stories they used to tell around campfires in school .  He’d come to expect this kind of… drama from Hubert, but this was  _ so  _ not his division . This was sneaky spy stuff! Why didn’t he ask for Petra? She’d be way better for this.  Or better dressed at least .

Well, better to see what  _ this  _ even was, especially since the scout just dumped him there and left .

“Caspar,” Hubert barked, sharp as ever.   
  
“Yo!” he called  back with a friendly wave. “What’s up, Hubie? I got your letter and stuff,  but it was, uh… really vague, so I still don’t really know  what this is about .”

“I couldn’t risk anyone knowing, Caspar. Come with me,” he ordered sternly  with a swish of that nice cloak of his as he walked off. He wondered if Lin would like a coat like that. Clean, easy to wear, pockets…  Wait, no. He needed to focus. He was here on a mission .

They walked a long time. Like, a really long time.  Then they  finally made it to a cave  or something that was way too hot,  and Hubert held him back as he undid some traps  by doing some weird glowy hand thing to get them in.

Then Hubert actually start ed talking. “Caspar, you are one of the few people whose loyalty is unquestionable. It is for this reason I’ve brought you with me on an extremely important, high-risk mission. We might die here. If worse comes to worst, you will do all you can to save me even at the cost of your own life. Do you understand?”

“ Uh … I mean, I’m a soldier, right?” he  said as he scratch ed at his cheek. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.  It’s nothing new. Dunno why you want  _ me _ , though.”   
  
“Because you’re a heavy, Caspar,”  Hubert replied . “I don’t know what to expect here, so if things ‘go loud,’ as  it were , I need someone who can put down threats.” 

Well, that made sense, he guessed,  even if Hubert was looking more grim than usual. He hadn’t seen the guy  really since the war started and usually only caught him when he was on his way to see Lin , but it looked like he hadn’t slept much.  He couldn’t imagine what Edelgard was having him do, but whatever it was, it was sure running him ragged .

“ Sounds easy enough. Don’t worry Hubert, I got your back,” he said  as he pounded his chest. “ This will b e easy!”

It was good to see Hubert smile, even if he was hiding it. Or trying to, anyway . He knew he could get to him. “Please be serious, Caspar. I was not joking about the odds. I know how skilled you are, and I took that into account. This will be dangerous  even with that, so I need you to understand,” he said firmly, amber eyes staring with their usual piercing intensity.

Caspar could only roll his eyes. “I’ve been holding the front for half a decade, man, you think I don’t understand what it means to put my life on the line? I know you’re just being you, but gimme some credit.  I know what’s at stake .”

Hubert held his gaze for a few moments more before finally breaking it with a firm nod. “Of course. My apologies, Caspar. This might change the course of the war. We need it to go well,” he confided  before he tossed him a small sack which he caught in-hand. “A last meal, if you will. I’d suggest not savoring it. It tastes terrible, but you’ll need the energy.”

Caspar  took a bite, but he didn’t  really know what he was talking about.  Salt jerky wasn’t all that bad if you weren’t used to dining in Enbarr. He’d definitely eaten worse on war rations. At least Hubert had… nuts or something .

“So what exactly is this, Hubert?” Caspar asked. “Might help if I knew  what we’re doing.”

“We’re  here to find a relic,” he replied. “A secret faction that has been  controlling Fódlan from the shadows for ages had something here.  A base . We can use the relic to  find a route in, perhaps any escape tunnels, and then we  can put them down for good. If we can manage that, the Emperor will have more options in how to prosecute the war. This won’t be our last stop.”

Caspar scratched his chin. “Huh. Well, okay then. I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it. You tell me where to stand and who to swing at.”   
  
“ I wouldn’t worry about that. If all goes as planned, there won’t be a need for you,” he warned. “You’re my back-up plan.”   
  
“Wow, all that talk about a last meal and now the odds are better,” Caspar laughed as he stood. “The night’s still young, I guess. ”

“You’re not incorrect,”  Hubert said absent-mindedly  as Caspar wondered who could have been controlling the war like what Hubert was talking about. Sreng?  Nah, they were Faerghus’s problem . Almyra? That seemed unlikely, but… who else was there, really? It’s not like Dagda would care or be set up so far north like this.

Well, so much for that. He was out of ideas. Better to leave this stuff to Hubert.

It was strange travelling so near Garreg Mach again, especially after all the troop reports he’d  gotten concerning Alliance movement nearby. If Hubert was dragging him along though, there was a good reason,  but he didn’t know how well the two of them would do against an entire Leicester battalion .

He started to wonder when they made it to the lip of a valley that shone with heat,  and as they crested over the hill, he could see rivers and lakes of lava.  Petra  _ definitely  _ would’ve been dressed better .   
  
“ _ This _ is Ailell?”  Caspar breathed . He’d never seen anything like this before. Sure  he’d seen it on the map  and heard the stories, but...  being there was different .   
  
“Ailell, the Valley of Torment,”  Hubert explained with his mouth set in a grim line . “A nearly inhospitable hell said to have been a mark of the Goddess’s rage when she razed a forest long ago.  Or so we’re told. Now let’s go .”

Okay, great . Caspar was confused as,  well, hell , but that wasn’t anything new.  But what were they hoping to find in  _ that? _ What value could it have for the war or… anything at all? He undid the button to his undershirt  to let the air flow more readily through his breastplate as they slowly walked down the rocky slope  into the valley .

“Keep light on your feet. It’s said fire spouts can sometimes appear,”  Hubert cautioned .

Caspar groaned. “Great. Because walking around near  _ lava _ in  _ plate armor _ wasn’t bad enough…” He didn’t even want to touch his chestplate,  but he bet  that by the time this was over they’d be able to fry an egg on it.

“ It is said there are ascetics who live here praying for the Goddess’s mercy. I don’t trust the stability of anyone who would come here willingly so be cautious,” Hubert  replied , eyes scanning as they  walked along a molten river .

It was a long, hot walk. Hubert passed him a water skin for which he was hugely grateful as they passed the occasional ascetic, sitting on an island in the lava, or on top of a giant, likely burning-hot stone pillar, or just showing how crazy you had to be to stay in a place like this of your own free will.

“Why anyone would want to be down here is beyond me,” Caspar grumbled unhappily as they came upon a sinkhole .

Hubert’s response was immediate upon seeing it. “This should be the place,” he stated seriously. “We’re going in.” 

“Seriously?  What do you think you’re gonna find in the dent the Goddess made with her  _ fist? _ ” asked Caspar even as he followed Hubert’s confident stride.

“Something an informant told me would be very useful,” Hubert replied as they made their way down and into the crater and into an even creepier hole still .

It was dark, but there was a fire burning  for some reason somewhere making weird shadows dance on the walls.  _ And shit _ , they just kept going  _ down. _ They must’ve gone down at least another hundred feet by the time they came to a huge room,  almost as big as the  dining hall back in Garreg Mach. It looked like… he didn’t know what. This didn’t look like a natural cave. The walls  and floor were all… smooth, almost like they’d melted at one point.

It was dark,  and the only defining feature was an area that was cordoned off by white curtains.  How they got down there was beyond him, but at least it wasn’t so damn hot down here.

He didn’t really know what he was looking at when they parted the curtain. Just some boxes, supplies, and a cot  with a woman lying upon it .  She roused,  and the way Hubert stiffened in front of him told him something was amiss.

“Hubert von Vestra. Caspar von Bergliez. I did not think you  were the sorts to  make pilgrimages,” came the unmistakable voice of  someone who was  _ supposed to be dead _ .

“...Archbishop,” Hubert said uncertainly, and as Caspar looked closer,  he realized she looked… wrong. One of her sleeves was tied back, her hair was way shorter than he remembered, and her face looked  _ burned _ . And from the look of it, it wasn’t just because she’d picked a literal hellhole to live in. That had scarred over a  _ long  _ time ago.   
  
“Not here, no. I am simply another penitent,” she stated. Though there was no mistaking  her voice sounded… weak. Drained.

“ Didn’t you, uh, die? By imperial order?” Caspar asked .   
  
“...Is that  _ really _ what you came here to ask?” Rhea  replied , sounding exhausted even as she reclined in her cot.

“Ignore him,” Hubert advised, swatting him in the back of the head. “I don’t need to tell you we did not expect to find you here.”   
  
She gave a wan smile. “Such was the idea, I suppose. I’m too weak to be of much use. I am better here than as an invalid in the care of my family. At least for now.”   
  
Hubert nodded,  his face set in a frown. “...I suppose.  We’d leave you to your rest, but we’ve come here for something .”   
  
Rhea gave a breathy sigh  as she pushed herself up off her cot  and reached for a cane that had been leaning against the bed. “I suppose I owe my savior that much.”

“We’re looking for the javelin of light,” Hubert said  before Caspar could whip around and ask about that last part , making Rhea still where she stood.

Caspar was a soldier. Sure he liked laughing and  cracking jokes even when he was out on the front  line , but he was a good soldier, and that meant not asking questions and doing what you were told. But he had  _ a lot _ of questions.

“You seek a legend, Hubert? I thought you  were more sober-minded than  that, especially when your Emperor needs  so much of you,” she said,  her mouth pressing into a thin smile .

“Spare me, Rhea. You were there. I don’t care how you ended up here of all places, but I need to know what happened to it,” Hubert countered, and now Caspar was completely lost.

Rhea simply stared at Hubert, her burnt eye really making it hard to look at her for too long. It looked like she’d lost it. “You’ve sorted that much, then. It’s here, Hubert. This was the blast zone. Or what I believe it was. I was not precisely paying attention to where it went at the time, as you might imagine.”

“Well?” demanded Hubert. “Where is it?” 

“It  _ isn’t _ . It was no javelin, no weapon you could imagine. It truly did come from the stars, but not from the Goddess,” she said, eyes growing hazy where she stood swaying. “I was crazed. I hardly remember that day,  only that it took all my strength to repel it.”   
She sighed  and sat back down on her cot  before turning an icy eye to both of them . “I do not know how to aid you. The weapon was obliterated by its own strike. Even if it had not, I would never allow you to have it. I am less than I was, but if you intend to use such a tool, I will burn you both alive.”

Hubert shook his head. “You misunderstand. We want to find the  _ caster _ of the javelin. I have access to a way to track from whence the order originally came based off of magical residue. Please, is there not a single piece which has survived?” 

Her one eye blinked. “...You hunt the Agarthans,” she stated, voice flat and inflectionless. “The very people who you are allied to. Why?”   
  
“Suffice to say your jailbreak was only the first act among many  that the Emperor has planned to deal with them. We operated under false pretences all those years ago and regret the alliance,”  he said before he paused  to stare at her  unflinchingly . “You understand why I won’t say more.”   
Rhea frowned, but nodded slowly. “I’m not fool enough to question assistance with them. Your Emperor would be easier to deal with than  they .”

“ I know . Now do you have what I need?”  Hubert  restated.

She pulled herself up again from the cot, still shaky,  and despite himself,  Caspar reached for her arm  to help steady her, though she declined with a polite nod before making her way towards one of the chests, tapping it with her cane. “It’s this one.”

  
Hubert was on it in an instant, opening  what looked like… a black luggage case to examine the contents with intense scrutiny. “ It is just as Solon said : a black box  with a record of everything that happened to it until its end.”

The box  split open at the touch to reveal a strange crystal  that Caspar didn’t recognize. Magic? Obviously. Probably. He didn’t know. Whatever the case, Rhea looked on impassively. The crystal… gem…  _ whatever _ glowed a strange purple color, and  then Hubert had what he wanted. 

“ _ Hrym? _ ” he  all but squawked  before pinching the bridge of his nose  and closing the relic  back with a firm  _ snap _ .  He sighed and stood, dusting off his knees . “I have what I need. Thank you. We shan’t bother you any longer.”

“Well and good,” Rhea said  with a nod . “Safe travels, I suppose. And best of luck.”

“Indeed. I’ll… see about sending word to your allies of your location, and your wishes, if you so desire,” Hubert said a trifle awkwardly. 

Rhea stilled at that. “...They are well, then?”

Hubert could only nod. “ Your chosen professors seem to have risen from the dead as well, much to our chagrin,” he said with a wry smile that almost looked wrong on him. “Must be a shared trait .”   
  
Rhea was silent for a long moment at that, eye widening briefly before  she acceded with a quiet nod. “Tell them not to search for me until the war is over. It is best if I remain here.”

“Far be it from me to question  family ,” said Hubert neutrally. “I’m hardly an authority on  the matter .”

Rhea smiled humorlessly at that. “That makes two, I suppose. Farewell .”

And with that, Caspar and Hubert walked out, leaving the former Archbishop of the Church of Seiros to sit in her hole.

When they were suitably far away, though,  the dam holding back his questions began to crack . “So, uh, what was that?”

“Unusually fortuitous, is what it was. No one had any idea where that woman went after I gave her the resources to break out of her imprisonment,” he said almost casually, like he was talking about the weather, but this situation was about as normal as the weather in this melting hell, and that wasn’t really good enough. “ Yeah, but I thought Rhea was a bad guy,  and we’re just leaving her  back there?” he  said .

“Yes, I think we are,”  Hubert replied , deadpan. “ But fret not . All will be made clear in due time. Suffice to say many sins were placed at Rhea’s doorstep for which she was not the true culprit.”   
  
“Oh,” Caspar  said instead of actually answering as they crested back into the normal world that wasn’t trying to cook him inside his armor. “Why didn’t you just say that to start?”

Hubert sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because this is all confidential information, Caspar. Only I and the Emperor understand or even know the true nature of the Agarthans among us, and that is to ensure that when we strike back, they won’t drop another javelin on Enbarr.”

Well, Caspar couldn’t fault him for that, he guessed . There was an awkward silence as they crunched through the snow. “So Hrym, huh? That’s where their secret base is or whatever?” Caspar asked with his hands behind his head. “We should get horses.”

Hubert snorted. “Yes, I suppose we shall.  It would be a bit far by foot .”

“So… we’re gonna be like, fighting these guys, right?” Caspar asked cautiously. “ The ones who had the javelins  that made that huge hell canyon ?”   
  
“Not  yet ,” Hubert stated. “We’re simply scouting at this point. We have their base’s location, but it’s  likely deep underground somewhere. We’ll need to find a method of ingress.”   
  
“And you want  _ me _ to help you with that,” he said,  more to walk himself through it than anything . “Or at least stand around while you do that or whatever.”

“Yes, something like that,” Hubert replied .

Good grief… he kind of wanted to just go back and hold the line  because this was all going way over his head. Goddess, did Linhardt know about this stuff? He had to. He was always in Enbarr work ing with Hubert all the time. If something about this was wrong… Lin’d have said something, right?

Caspar sighed as they continued their march. This was a lot, but Hubert trusted him enough to tell him  this because he knew he wouldn’t betray  his trust. Whatever was going on… he was an Adrestian, a Bergliez. He’d do his duty, even if he wasn’t really sure what that was anymore in the big picture sense.

The front wasn’t an easy place to be, but at least he knew what he had to do.  It was straightforward . Here, it was… well,  he trusted that Hubert understood .

There was still one question ringing around in his head, though .

“So, like…” Caspar asked, “how’d you save her?”

“It wasn’t anything notable,”  Hubert replied . “I found where they kept her while I was hunting for outposts.  They had her at … well, it seemed like a barn on the outside, but that was a facade. I  just waited until they left her for the night, undid her bindings, and told her whatever she did from  t here was her prerogative.”   
  
“That’s a pretty good thing you did,”  Caspar said. “You didn’t really have to do that.”

“...I suppose even I can allow sentimentality to cloud my judgment,”  Hubert admitted to Caspar and the trees. “Edelgard and I both misjudged her, and were the ones to trap her there,  even if only indirectly. But you saw her . Lava can’t harm her,  so imagine what they used to burn her.”

“ Yeouch,” Caspar hissed through his teeth. It was the understatement of the century, but he didn’t really have anything to add there. He was no burn expert. But one truth held out beyond it all. “You know, Hubie , you’re a pretty good guy underneath it all.”   
  
“Oh, spare me,” Hubert scoffed. “For whatever kindness you can name, I’ve likely done five things to imbalance it again. I was not a good man when this war began, Caspar, and I doubt I ever will  be .”

“Yeah? Well, I think a bad person would have left Rhea dead in a barn,” Caspar replied. “Don’t pretend you’re worse than you are, Hubert. No one’s a saint, I’m not either — the war’s made sure of that for probably everyone we’ve met — but that doesn’t mean we can’t try anyway.”   
  
Hubert  gave a hum. “You have a novel approach to moral philosophy, Caspar.”   
  
“I  have no idea what that is, but  I didn’t say anything that wasn’t normal ,” Caspar said. “You just get stuck up in your own head  and sweat the small stuff when the important  thing is just that you try to do good. No  one ’s perfect,  so you just have to make a choice and learn to live with it.”

That actually made him  _ laugh, _ a single cracking  _ hah _ , like he was some kind of weird bird or something that had him gaping for the insult. “ Just so, Caspar. Perhaps I should come to you whenever I need a pep talk .”

“ Uh , thanks?”  Caspar replied with a quirked eyebrow .

Hubert smiled, for once  without any of the usual doom and gloom . “I didn’t mean to mock you, Caspar. You make a good leader.”

“ Nah, don’t butter me up. I’m no Randolph or Ladislava. I dunno if I can match them,” Caspar said, scratching at the back of his head as he kicked up a pebble . “...So Hrym,  yeah ? We’ve got  a lot of work to do.”

“Indeed,” Hubert said with a nod. “I suppose we’ll be subsisting off of these awful provisions for a time.”   
  
“ Ugh, all you Enbarr people are so spoiled,” Caspar teased. Well, half- teased. “This jerky isn’t even that bad. Almost good, even .”

Hubert scoffed loudly, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “Yes, how unfortunate it is to have a cultured palate that requires more than salt and old meat to enjoy eating.”   
  
“Suit yourself,” Caspar said with a shrug. “I don’t need much.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to trust you on that . Perhaps see about enlightening you to some of the finer things as well,” he mused thoughtfully.

Caspar chuckled at that. “Bring a big wallet. Muscles like these aren’t cheap to feed,” he said  as he flex ed his arm. “ But hey, if we pass a fancy restaurant, I guess you can show me what those ‘finer things’ are. I still think you’re full of it, though .”

“Oh, I am nothing of the sort. Believe me,” Hubert said.

“Whatever you say,” Caspar said with a laugh. “ You may seem like you’re full of it sometimes, but  I trust you.”

And beneath it all, down into the inferno and back, he found he meant it .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? We found her! Did you see it coming?
> 
> This was a very fun chapter to write just for variety's sake. 
> 
> Hubert: We need to go to Hrym  
> Caspar, remembering geography: We will need horses. This is my serious professional opinion
> 
> They have a fun dynamic, hahah.
> 
> As ever, if you'd like to come by and enjoy some bonus content, such as a brand new, semi-canonical tea party chapter, why not join us at our discord? https://discord.gg/DvnysTdApm
> 
> It's 18+ because it hosts smut and such, so we ask that you please respect that boundary. Cheers!


	49. Four Old Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth, despite being in a foreign land comes home.

Byleth remembered snow being lighter.

There was just something in how it fell at Garreg Mach that made it feel more whimsical somehow, but marching through it now in Faerghus proper reminded him in perfect clarity that nostalgia was a liar, and a conniving one at that.

It took more than he wanted to acknowledge in himself to not think of it as a punishment, because it wasn’t. This was necessary. Wars were fought on the backs of marching soldiers, after all.

“Seiros’s tits, this is why I always made sure we headed south when the birds did,” Jeralt said with an irritated sigh from atop his horse. “I can’t imagine anyone willingly traveling through all this shit, nevermind living in it. How everyone in Faerghus can stand any of it is beyond me.”

“I can’t say I know, either  Sir Jeralt ,” Leonie agreed as she scanned the pass ahead of them. “My village is pretty far north as far as Leicester is concerned, but it’s about as close as I can stomach.”

“Come now, it’s not so bad,” Dimitri said with something of a pout in his voice. He had been quiet for much of the ride, but Byleth had taken solace in the fact that he no longer seemed to grimace or snarl. He’d been content to simply watch his breath cloud in the cold air around them, but when he thought to speak, Byleth found he would hold his own for fear of breaking whatever spell was in the air.

“Says the one with a fur-lined cloak,” Jeralt snorted.

“No,  truly !” Dimitri continued to Byleth’s comfort. “The wind isn’t very strong, and we can see the way ahead clearly.”

“I hate to break the united front here, but he’s got a point,” Leonie said as she brought her horse out of a canter. “The snow  _ is _ coming down, but visibility-wise, we’d be able to see an enemy with fair enough warning. So long as it doesn’t turn into a blizzard out of nowhere, we should be fine.”

It’s the truth. Byleth could remember riding through Faerghus’s ranges and taking in the view of the peaks for more than just the scenery. He’d scan the ridges and cliffs the whole way through, though. Old habits die hard. He still ran the risk of tiring out both himself and his eyes, but the man who slept with a blade under his pillow was a fool every night but one . There was no such thing as excessive caution in war.

“In any case,” Leonie continued with a half-shrug, “we’re almost there. Ready to see home again, Dimitri?”

He almost flinched at his name, which made her backpedal with, “Oh, er, excuse me, Your Highness.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” Dimitri replied with pursed lips before coughing into his fist. “It’s simply been some time since I… I’ve been back.”

It’s enough to make Byleth reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, uneven as they were on horseback, and give it a light squeeze. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you all the same.”

Dimitri gave him a soft but pained smile in turn. “I can only hope that you’re right.”

“Look alive!” Leonie called before galloping off, and looking ahead, Byleth could see Galatean heraldry.

A fluttering heart was something that Byleth wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to, but he’d indulge it this once. The time he'd spent with the Deer had been an enjoyable one despite the circumstance, but the Lions were  _ his _ , and it had been far too long.

Pity that his sister couldn’t reunite with her Eagles in like. The choice hadn’t been theirs, though. There were other players in the theater besides the two of them, and it was folly to pretend otherwise. He could only hope that Edelgard would at least see the truth laid bare in the discarded pages.

But that was a regret for one time and a wish for another. He shouldn’t deny his own heart the joy of having. One right, one step at a time.

How had they all changed, he wondered? Five years had been less than kind to Dimitri, but he had grown still. Worry seized him. He’d seen the reports that came out of Faerghus over his father’s shoulder, and more often than not, they were bleak. Would he find his Lions hardened and haunted like their prince, or would they have risen to the call?

Like most things, he supposed the answer was somewhere in the middle.

The soldiers that watched them as they entered the fortifications all had steely eyes with dark circles, but they carried themselves in a way that those with low morale never could. These were people who proudly donned their blue, and they would fight for it.

A pride of lions wouldn’t have it any other way.

They all dismounted, leaving Jeralt with their horses in front of what, from Leonie’s explanation, was the Galatea Estate, though it wasn’t quite what Byleth expected if he was being honest. Intellectually he knew that the Galatea family had a title, but for how Ingrid herself had been so frugal, he’d imagined it would be… smaller. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t stately by any means — the Galatea family  _ was  _ an offshoot of House Daphnel in the Alliance, after all — only that it looked rather simple in its design, which he supposed was more timeless, all things considered. He doubted that was the reasoning behind the decision, though. Ingrid gave the impression that they’d been destitute from the start.

It only seemed more apparent inside where cots had been laid out in almost every available space, even in the halls, to help house as many soldiers as possible and shelter them from the elements, and everywhere else, there were stacks of barrels and crates cluttering the spaces between. Everything had a place in the name of efficiency.

A loud whistle rang out as Leonie put her fingers to her lips. “Oy, Ingrid! The reinforcements have arrived!”

“Yes, we know. The scouts came ahead of you hours ago, so you can stop making so much noise,”  groused a familiar, irritated voice that was distinctly  _ not _ Ingrid’s, and then from down a set of stairs came Felix, still just as short and prickly as Byleth remembered but no less grown up for it. Perhaps it was because he no longer donned a school uniform, or maybe it was how he’d  lost his baby fat, face growing sharper … 

“I don’t see why you’re disrupting us over something we already—”

He stopped dead in his tracks as he locked eyes with Byleth, and then they flicked over to Dimitri. And before either of them could blink, a bolt of lightning erupted from Felix’s fingertips.

Back at the academy, Byleth had made sure that each of his students knew the basics of each weapon to better understand how to defend against them, spellwork included. Dimitri had been no exception to this, but he’d been slower on the uptake  than Felix . Perhaps it was for the best then that Byleth himself had seen to it to stay by his side in combat to make up for the hole in his defenses therein. They’d fought in tandem, so it was instinct that bade him to step forward then to catch the arc in his palms, making it hiss and sputter and it fizzed out. Then there was a heavy thud beside him as metal clanged with Felix’s sword caught on Dimitri’s lance.

“Hey, I heard thunder, what’s going on down there? Oh shit,  _ Felix! _ ” came another familiar voice accompanied by hurried footsteps before Felix himself was lifted away.

“Put me down, Sylvain!” he hissed as he squirmed and kicked in a way that made him look every bit still a petulant child. Or an angry, spitting cat.

“Not until you  _ calm  _ down,” Sylvain replied, before turning to look at him. Byleth could see that he’d grown. Not just physically — which he had, given how tall he was now — but he seemed much more  put together .  As he put Felix down finally, it became more evident.  He stood up straighter, brushed his hair out of his face and wore an expression that reached his eyes, unlike the mask he used to wear.

He had dark circles under his eyes, though. The same ones the soldiers under him had.

“I will calm  _ down _ when I know why there are two ghosts standing in front of me!”  Felix cried, pointing at them accusingly.

“We’ve known that they were coming for weeks now, Fe,” Sylvain said with a small sigh.

  
“To hell with your letters! Why didn’t you just tell me!? How? How did this happen, Sylvain?”

“If you’d read your damn letter you — gods. Look, it’s not clear, alright? We’re gonna have a long talk about it, aren’t we professor?” Sylvain said, giving Byleth a look as if to ask for help.

Byleth could only nod awkwardly at that , Sylvain sighing in relief.  “There, see? We’ll  ge t some answers. Just, no more lightning, okay Felix?”

“He’s  right about the letters, Felix. We don’t have time to spend all day  explaining things again you could have read the first time instead,” came a chastisement they’d all heard countless times before as Ingrid descended the stairs to join them.

Out of the three, she most of all looked like she’d grown into her role. She wore the armor of a pegasus knight, something that she’d dreamt about being during her school years Byleth knew, but he wondered if she’d ever considered the cost. A knight existed for combat, and she’d gotten a war.

“I’ll admit, though,” she continued as she brushed a stray lock of short hair out of her face, “reading is one thing, but seeing is another.”

There was a distant sound somewhere beyond, but she smiled, a soft thing that reached her eyes, and walked forward with a shy wave. “I’m… I’m so glad to see you both again,” she said, green eyes shining as the scent of clean linen soothed his nerves after days on days of stale sweat in the  cold.

“Yeah, touching,” Felix said as he brushed past them. “But we should probably see why someone blew the war horn just now instead of welcoming dead men.”

“My money’s on Cornelia,” Sylvain teased, but it lacked the heat it would’ve had in the past even as he leaned against Felix’s shoulder.

It was a moment more before Felix shoved him off with a scowl . “Whatever. Get your horse,” he grunted and stomped  off without so much as a glance even as Sylvain followed after him.

“So where do you  want us?” Byleth asked as he turned to Ingrid.  “We’ve got about fifty horses and two hundred men. How’s that factor in for you?”

  
Ingrid’s eyes sharpened at that , her  posture straightening at being and treated with authority,  just like she had  at Garreg Mach. “Wherever you see that needs fortifying, Professor.  Until we can prepare a proper battle plan , we’ll have to rely on opportunities as they present themselves.”

Byleth  nodded in turn. “Understood. We’ll defer to your command.”

It was an odd thing to ask for orders from those he once gave them to, but these were their lands, and  he needed to remember these weren’t the young students he remembered, but hardened professionals. The Faerghan front was far messier than the deadlock the Alliance had forced , and for them, focusing on the battles as they came was what determined who lived or died. This was for survival.

Ingrid’s voice was piercing when she chose to invoke it. “Battle stations! Reinforce the line and take them out!” she roared as  the final few straggling Galatea soldiers rush ed  off at her call with Ingrid herself marching alongside them.

“Who is it out there?” Byleth asked as he fell into stride with his father.

“The Faerghus soldiers say they aren’t flying any banner but that they’re Cornelia,” Jeralt replied as he finished freeing his horse from anything that wasn’t combat gear. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re here to give us a warm welcome.”

“We were the targets,” Byleth sighed, cursing himself for attracting attention.

“Yeah, good thing they’re late,” Jeralt replied as he mounted the saddle and helping him swing up after. “Let’s make it a costly mistake.”

“Agreed,” Byleth said as they rode out.

It was a messy flashpoint when they made it to the small Galatean force with  men being driven back towards the bulk of Byleth and Jeralt’s forces by the assault. But  while they ceded ground, they were not taking losses. The reinforcements gave the line the breathing room it needed to agglomerate into the primary spear and rob the ambushers of their advantage.

It was exhilarating to be dropped back down  on the field against an enemy worth his ire with  his father at his back . It was like old times as the Ashen Demon before he had something that needed protecting, though now  it filled his chest with fire. But  this was better.  He’d kill them all to keep  his Lions, his family  safe.

Once the Sword of the Creator began its lashing dance, the fight was already decided. Jeralt took up the helm, crashing into the opposing soldiers  with his and Galatea’s forces, his distinctive roar demanding obedience from all who heard it as they shattered the opposing ranks  and  turn ed  the battle into a hot-blooded hunt.

Byleth hardly even needed a retinue and  only kept  near the front line for appearance’s sake. Fear was a distant memory for him. He lost himself in the skirmish with the  sword whipping wildly. He knew he was leaving his left flank open, but Blythe would surely — not be there. 

He saw the attacker just a moment too late riding at him at full tilt. He was already tensing to roll out of the way and risk being trampled instead of impaled when a lobbed spear sank into the rider, sending their body falling down into the snow as the horse panicked and ran off into parts unknown.

Byleth could only whirl in disbelief towards the javelin’s source to see  Dimitri leveling a terrified eye his way. “Be  _ careful, _ Professor!”

It was a sudden and sobering realization. Blythe was not here. That had never happened in his life, not for any true battle. By rights, he should have been run through. But Dimitri was there, his fear and anxiety heavy and stinging his nose. He was torn between shame at forcing such terror out of him  and a twisted pride at evoking it.

Whatever the case, he nodded a silent apology, and they moved forward this time as a unit. No one would  get near them. His blade glowed angry and red as he whipped through traitors in dozens with  Dimitri his stalwart shadow destroying any he missed.  Before long, all that was left were a few terrified horses without their riders and  whatever stragglers that had  decided that caution was the better part of valor.

The fight was over in what felt like moments to Byleth’s adrenaline-laden mind. Colors ran sharp and bright with  blood and sweat heavy on the wind. His skull was singing, the thrill of battle leaving his nerves sparking with eagerness to strike. With no target, he turned to Dimitri himself almost thoughtlessly.

“You’re alright?” he asked without preamble, stepping forward instinctively to smell  for blood that was not his own as his eyes scanned him.

“I’m fine,” Dimitri objected and stepped back from him with flushed cheeks that Byleth wrote off as exertion. “You should be more concerned with yourself than me.”

“I had to make sure,” he said, serious and unashamed. “I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Dimitri’s eye widened at that , his  mouth opening slightly before he turned his gaze away. “There are others more deserving of your attention than I, Professor.”

He would allow the concession just this once as  they returned  to the main force . There were in fact others he wanted to see and make sure were unhurt.

He found his father, Ingrid, and Leonie first where the line had been some time before, the three of them cleaning up as well as the sweat and snow would allow.

“Good thing we were early, yeah?”  called Jeralt from astride his destrier with a chipper wave to them both.

“I think it’s more likely that you were early,” Ingrid said, her shoulders rising as she heaved clouded breaths. “They were rather sloppy. It’s like they weren’t expecting you for some time still.”

“Not to brag or anything, but I think I deserve some credit there,” Leonie said as she leaned against Ingrid’s pegasus while she pressed at something on her thigh. “I knew our window was small, so I pushed you all through faster than we would’ve marched otherwise.”

Jeralt sighed. “It’s probably for the best. They’ll need all the bodies they can get back at the monastery come spring thaw.”

“All the bodies…” Ingrid echoed as she looked morosely at a fallen soldier in the snow.

Facedown, it was hard to tell with whom their loyalties had lain, but then, it didn’t really matter. Every soldier lost on either side was a loss for the Kingdom as a whole. Byleth had learned before he’d first held a blade to distance himself from thinking such sonder thoughts, though. Envisioning an enemy combatant as a person with dreams and family could mean a hesitant arm, and that was a surer killer than even the best soldier.

“Well,” Ingrid said as she did her best to righten herself, “I suppose we should get to counting our casualties.”

“Already done,” came Sylvain’s voice as he and Felix rode up on horseback together. “Honestly, it could have been a  _ lot _ worse, but the horses took the brunt of it.”

Felix huffed at his back. “I don’t see the problem. Cornelia’s soldiers left theirs behind in their haste to protect what little brain matter they had. Just take theirs.”

“Someone must have taught your soldiers well to aim at the riders,” Byleth said, giving Dimitri a smile that made him avert his eyes as his cheeks gained a little color.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Jeralt said as he scratched his chin. “I can see about getting some of ours to round ‘em up.”

“That would be good, Ser Jeralt, thanks,” Ingrid said with a small bow before she turned to Leonie  with her face screwed up in a determined expression . “ I think you ought to see a healer, Leonie. Leg wounds can go bad if left unchecked. I’d hate to think you protecting me was your undoing. ”

Leonie shrugged. “It was better than you getting shot out of the sky. A fall like that is harder to bounce back from, and I’ve taken my share of arrows. ”

“Still…” Ingrid sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. I did it so you wouldn’t do that, yeah?” Leonie replied, giving her a pat on the back and a warm smile. “You can make it up to me later  if you’re that hung up on it. ”

Ingrid blinked before nodding slowly,  expression unreadable . “Right. You know where to find me.”

With the two gone, the rest were left standing there in the reddened snow, and Byleth took a moment to look at each of them. Once, a skirmish like this would have shot his nerves and sent him into the mindset of a mother bear, but his cubs — his  _ lion  _ cubs — had all grown up to fill the shoes that had been set out for them. He only wished he could have been there to see it… 

“Hey, Professor, are you okay?” Sylvain asked before dismounting his horse.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Byleth replied, shaking his head.

“That’s not ‘ _ nothing _ ’,” Felix countered as he followed after Sylvain. “You’ve never done…  _ that _ .”

Byleth furrowed his brow. “Done what?”

“Cried, Professor,” Dimitri finished.

Touching his cheek, Byleth found it was true. He’d chalked it up to snow and sweat at first, but tears were warm, he remembered. This was new for him, and all he could say was, “Oh,”  as he realized his hand was shaking before all four of them enveloped him in an embrace as  he stood helpless and overcome with emotion. .

He wasn’t sure how long he held onto them  on that field in the cold , but when his breath evened out, he pulled back and smiled. “I’m so proud of you all.”

“I don’t know what I did to be proud of,” Sylvain said  awkwardly, scratching at his nose. “But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

“Certainly not anything to cry over,” Felix mumbled as he stepped back and shielded pink cheeks.

“Hey, Professor, Your Highness, may I ask you something?” Ingrid said, drawing everyone’s eyes. “How is it that the two of you survived? We all thought you were dead for years, and… we could’ve used your help.”

Well, they’d finally acknowledged the lion in the room as it were.

Byleth and Dimitri shared a look before he turned back to them. “There’s a lot we need to tell you — all of you — but it would be best discussed in private. For now, we should all go back and rest after today.”

“Yeah, this was a lot to deal with after a march, huh,” Sylvain said before walking back to take his horse by the reins.

“Indeed,” Dimitri sighed as he rubbed at his arm. “I fear we will need more energy still when it comes time.”

Now that Byleth took the time to check in with himself, he could feel weariness permeating every part of his body.  He may not have been at the front like the rest, but it had been a long time since he’d slowed down, even with outside help, and he could feel every muscle begging him to stop. A bed was starting to sound very attractive.

Well, he supposed a cot would suffice. Anything to get him off his feet.

Five years of sleep hadn’t done him much good, but he supposed that the fact that those close to him had made do despite it meant that he could have one more good night of sleep. They could deal with tomorrow and the days after as they came.  Together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the family's back together again. It's good to see.
> 
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